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THE  NUT  CRACKER 


WNlt.  W  CALTF.  tmnARY.  f.08  ANr.Ff.KS 


o 

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The  Nut  Cracker 

FREDERIC  S.  ISHAM 


•Author  of 

Nothing  but  the  Truth,  Three  Live  Ghost* 

Aladdin  from  Broadway,  This  Way  Out 

Haifa  Chance,  Under  the  Rose 

etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
STOCKTON  MULFORD 


027 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1920 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  a  C0< 

BOOK  MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  V. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER 


2130956 


THE  NUT  CRACKER 

CHAPTER  I 

MR.  HORATIO  SLIPAWAY  was  worried. 
Now  there  are  various  and  different  kinds 
of  worries.  There  are  the  worries  of  the  heart,  of 
the  mind  and  of  the  purse.  There  are  worries 
great,  and  worries  small.  There  are  worries  real 
and  worries  imaginary,  Mr.  Slipaway's  worries 
partook  of  all  varieties  and  kinds.  They  were  of 
every  shade  and  complexion.  And  as  every  worry 
breeds  another,  so  ten  breeds  ten  until  a  few  orig- 
inal worries  become  an  ever  growing  host.  The 
time  had  arrived  when  Mr,  Slipaway's  worries 
seemed,  to  that  unfortunate  gentleman,  like  unto  a 
mighty  Lilliputian  army  attacking  him  (Slipaway) 
with  javelin,  sword,  pincers,  hammer,  tongs  or  any 
other  weapon  calculated  to  pinch,  pain  or  annoy, 
Mr.  Slipaway  mentally  writhed ;  outwardly  a  rather 
forced  smile  played  upon  his  naturally  optimistic 
features. 
Mr.  Slipaway  was  about  thirty-five,  and  ordina- 

1 


2  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

rily  would  have  drifted  through  Hfe's  troubled  sea 
with  a  smile  and  a  twinkle  of  the  eye,  but  events 
had  shorn  him  of  the  twinkle,  and  the  smile,  as 
aforesaid,  was  more  furtive,  artificial  and  manufac- 
tured than  would  have  been  the  case  had  it  sprung 
from  the  erstwhile  halcyon  depths  of  Mr.  Slipaway's 
true  sunny  soul.  Coming  events  cast  their  shadows 
before. 

The  shadows  traveling  as  harbingers  of  events 
which  were  in  pursuit  of  Mr.  Slipaway  were  of 
Stygian  hue;  there  didn't  seem  to  be  a  single  silver 
lining  to  the  clouds  that  cast  them.  Mr.  Slipaway 
shuddered  when  he  thought  of  the  outcome.  But 
Johnnie  Briggs  grinned.  Johnnie,  as  a  constant 
student  of  Horatio,  had  his  reasons  for  feeling 
satisfied.  Of  course,  Johnnie  didn't  let  his  old 
friend  see  him  grin ;  Johnnie  was  too  diplomatic  for 
that.  Good,  dear,  old,  blithe,  simple-minded  Ho- 
ratio was  in  a  peck  of  trouble.  This  much  Johnnie 
divined  by  numerous  signs  and  symptoms,  before 
Mr.  Slipaway  in  sheer  desperation  confided  a  few  of 
the  doleful  facts  to  the  seemingly  sympathetic  ears 
of  Johnnie. 

Mr.  Slipaway  was  a  bookkeeper  in  a  broker's 
ofiice  in  the  city;  he  had  made  one  or  two  small 
"investments"  on  the  side  that  hadn't  turned  out 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  3 

very  well,  but  that  was  only  the  beginning  of  Mr. 
Slipaway's  worries.  It  never  rains  but  it  pours.  In 
sheer  desperation,  Mr.  Slipaway  breathed  some  of 
his  dire  secrets  in  Johnnie's  ears.  Johnnie  listened 
attentively  and  respectfully;  you  would  have 
thought  Johnnie  was  awfully  sorry,  but  that  was  his 
artfulness.  And  Horatio  was  as  trusting  as  Johnnie 
was  artful.  How  could  he  fathom  the  Judas-like 
depths  of  Johnnie's  soul?  How  could  he  delve  into 
the  devious  and  iniquitous  motives  that  swayed  the 
latter's  pusillanimous  spirit?  How  could  he  know 
that  every  worry  of  his  (Horatio's)  brought  a  secret 
chuckle  to  Johnnie's  despicable  inner  consciousness. 
But  Horatio  was  naturally  trusting.  It  was  that 
identical  quality  that  got  him  into  trouble.  His 
mild  blue  eyes  looked  out  with  a  kindly  light  upon 
a  sinful  world.  His  was  a  whimsical  nature ;  he  had 
danced  and  made  merry,  in  his  day — but  that  be- 
longed to  the  past.  Now  he  was  a  hard-working, 
fairly  sober,  married  man.  Johnnie  was  a  bachelor 
who  held  a  position  somewhat  similar  to  Horatio's, 
in  a  neighboring  beehive  for  stocks  and  bonds. 
Johnnie  was  dark  and  saturnine-looking;  Horatio 
was  blond  and  sanguine.  Johnnie's  disposition 
masked  depths  of  cynicism;  Horatio  had  been 
cursed  with  buoyant  qualities.     The  former  would 


4  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

be  naturally  "short"  on  the  market;  the  latter 
"long."  Not  that  they  were  ever  real  operators, 
in  the  sense  of  the  word.  Oh,  no;  they  were  just 
two-penny,  four-penny  clerks.  Johnnie  was  about 
the  same  age  as  Horatio,  and  once  thay  had  had  an 
amatory  interest,  in  common.  But  that  is  another 
story. 

"My,  I've  got  troubles,"  said  Horatio,  the  con- 
fiding, to  Johnnie  who,  with  consummate  guile,  had 
led  the  other  to  unbosom  himself  by  slow  but  sure 
degrees,  late  that  afternoon,  as  the  two  met  at  a 
near-by  and  congenial  rendezvous,  after  the  toil  and 
moil  of  the  day's  routine  was  a  thing  of  the  past. 
"I  wonder  what  I  ever  did  to  have  so  many  trou- 
bles?"   And  Horatio  sighed  plaintively. 

"You?"  said  Johnnie.  "Why,  you've  always  been 
a  regular  saint.  You  haven't  done  anything.  Why, 
if  I'd  ever  been  one-quarter  as  good  as  you,  I'd  ex- 
pect to  have  wings." 

"Don't  make  fun,  Johnnie,"  pleaded  Horatio. 

"Fun?"  said  Johnnie  indignantly.  "I'm  not 
making  fun.     Believe  me!"     Earnestly. 

"I  know,"  said  the  other,  with  a  sigh.  "We've 
been  old  friends  too  long." 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  5 

"Of  course,"  said  Johnnie,  without  batting  an 
eyelash.    "I  should  say  we  have." 

"I  know.  From  the  time  I  left  the  little  village," 
murmured  Mr.  Slipaway. 

"When  he  left  the  little  village,  he  was  shy," 
hummed  Johnnie. 

Mr.  Slipaway,  pausing  in  lifting  a  mild  beverage 
to  his  lips,  cast  a  rather  reproachful  glance  at 
Johnnie.  The  words  sounded  frivolous — too  friv- 
olous for  such  a  serious  moment. 

"Yes,  we  have  been  old  friends,"  Johnnie  some- 
what hastily  put  in.  "Hearts  of  oak,  eh?"  And 
Johnnie  took  a  sip. 

Mr.  Slipaway  muttered  something  about  not  feel- 
ing like  a  heart  of  oak  at  that  particular,  precise 
moment. 

"Pooh,  pooh!  You  trust  me,"  said  Johnnie. 
"Haven't  we  always  been  friends?" 

"There  was  once  a  time — ?"  began  Horatio  rather 
shyly. 

An  instant  Johnnie's  lips  tightened.  Then  his 
free-and-easy  manner  quickly  returned. 

"Don't  know  what  you're  referring  to,"  he  said 
jovially,  "Haven't  an  idea.  And  if  I  had,  didn't 
we  shake  hands  ?" 


6  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Of  course  we  did,"  observed  Mr.  Slipaway,  "and 
I  thought  that  rather  fine  of  you." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  remarked  Johnnie.  "I'm 
happy  as  a  clam  as  I  am,"  he  laughed.  "Not  a  care; 
not  a  worry;  no  one  to  be  responsible  for — of  course 
if  some  one  left  me  a  pot  of  money — but" — Johnnie 
shrugged — "why  worry  ?" 

"That's  all  very  well  for  you,"  sighed  the  other. 
"But  there  are  occasions — there  are  circumstances 
— fearful — terrible — terrible — " 

He  repeated  the  word  with  fervent  accent;  his 
shoulders  drooped;  his  gaze  grew  far-away.  "And 
the  worst  is  there  is  no  use  trying  to  drown  trouble" 
— referring  to  the  mild  beverage — "or  to  run  away 
from  it.  And — and" — ^his  voice  faltered — "it's  just 
awful  to  have  to  meet  it,  when  it  has  so  many  aspects 
and  shapes — you  know  like  those  snakes  on  the  head 
of  the  Greek  woman — I  forget  who  she  was — only 
she  carried  around  about  a  hundred  snakes.  Well" 
— rather  incoherently — "I  feel  as  if  I  might  meet 
that  identical  woman  almost  any  old  time  now — " 

"Whew,"  whistled  Johnnie.  "You  seem  perfectly 
sober." 

"They  aren't  those  kind  of  snakes.  She  only  rep- 
resents woman's  wrath — the  world's  wrath — " 

'What's  it  all  about  ?"  said  Johnnie.    "Say,  what's 


«i 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  7 

the  use  of  having  a  true  friend,  if  you  don't  confide 
in  him?" 

"Believe  I  will,"  said  Horatio.  "Only  there  are 
so  many  angles  to  my  troubles.  They  are  so  dif- 
ferent, diversified  and  manifold — " 

"Begin  just  anywhere,"  observed  the  other.  "I'll 
trail  along." 

"That's  awfully  good  of  you,"  observed  Horatio 
gratefully. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  Johnnie  just  as  if  he 
meant  it. 

"It's  like  this" — began  Mr.  Slipaway  brokenly. 


CHAPTER  II 

SOME  little  bunch  of  gloom!"  commented 
'  Johnnie,  when  Horatio  had  concluded  his 
tragic  narrative. 

"But  I  wasn't  conscious  of  doing  a  thing  out  of 
the  way,"  pleaded  Mr.  Slipaway. 

"Do  you  know  what  is  paved  with  perfectly  good 
intentions?"  said  the  other  severely.  "And  besides, 
a  jury  always  believes  a  woman  before  a  man." 

Mr.  Slipaway  murmured  something  miserably 
about  being  aware  of  that  pernicious  fact. 

"Why,  she  looked  so  pale  and  pallid,"  he  ob- 
served, "I  was  just  sorry  for  her,  that  is  all." 

"All  passionate  sirens  are  pale,"  said  Johnnie, 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur.  "H  you  had  come  to 
me,  I  could  have  told  you."  Severely.  "Why,  I've 
known  scores  of  women  who'd  make  trouble  for  any 
man,  and  all  of  'em  are  pale.  Red-lipped — dark- 
haired — red-headed — but  pale!  Why,  look  at  the 
poets — isn't  it  always:  'passion-pale' — ?" 

"She  only  looked  hungry,  to  me,"  said  Horatio. 

"Hungry?"  snorted  the  other.  "A  typist  lady 
with  that  complexion  and  shape — hungry?" 

8 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  9 

"Shape?"  murmured  Horatio  dolefully.  "I  only- 
thought  of  her  as — as,  well,  thin — or  skinny!" 

Johnnie  looked  at  him  with  positive  pity, 

"Say,  don't  you  know  anything?"  he  muttered. 

"She  made  eyes  at  me  like  she  was  hungry,"  in- 
sisted Mr.  Slipaway.    "I  guess  I'm  out  of  practise." 

"I  guess  you  are.  When  Cleopatra  looked  at 
Caesar,  did  he  think  she  was  hungry?"  scoffed  John- 
nie. "When  Helen  cast  those  sheep-eyes  at  Paris, 
did  he  rush  off  to  buy  her  a  ham-sandwich  ?  When 
Juliet  goo-goo  eyed  at  Romeo  did  he  beat  it  to  get 
her  a  plate  of  macaroni?  Well,  he  did  not.  Those 
guys  understood  that  wasn't  the  way  the  dames  were 
hungry.  They  knew  that  passion-pale  hunger  when 
they  saw  it.     And  so  you  took  the  dame  to  Child's  ?" 

"Frequently,"  confessed  Horatio.  "She  just 
looked  to  me  like  one  of  these  poor  girls  that 
couldn't  make  enough  to  live  on.  How  was  I  to 
guess  that  at  heart  she  was  one  of  those  Shaw  get- 
a-man-at-any-price  sort  of  women;  pursue  'em;  grab 
'em?  H  the  man  belongs  to  another  woman,  all  the 
better !  Why,  I  never  did  more  than  to  pat  her  hand 
and  to  sympathize  with  her  and  all  poor  girls  who 
work  for  a  mere  pittance — not  enough  to  keep  body 
and  soul  together." 

"I  guess  you've  been  reading  O.  Henry,"  growled 


10  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

Johnnie.  "Better  stick  to  Shaw.  He  understands 
the  sex.  Or  Kipling.  Get  that  'Female  of  the  Spe- 
cies' and  tack  it  on  the  wall,  where  you  can  have  it 
constantly  before  you.  And  so  she  says  you  claimed 
to  be  an  unmarried  man,  and  so  on — etc.  ?  And  she 
is  going  to  sue  you,  and  hale  you  into  court? — And 
what  will  you  do,  when  Mrs.  Slipaway  finds  out?" 
Johnnie  eyed  the  other  furtively.  "A  very  charm- 
ing woman,  Mrs.  Slipaway,"  he  ruminated.  "Charm- 
ing, but  with  strong  convictions,"  Mr.  Slipaway 
shifted  uneasily.    "Religious,  too." 

"Don't,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway  hoarsely.  "Why  tell 
all  those  things  I  already  know?" 

"I  can  see  her  when  she  finds  out,"  said  Johnnie, 
shaking  his  head  sadly.  "Honestly,  I'm  sorry  for 
you,  old  man." 

"I  thought  you  might  be  able  to  help  me  some — 
to — to  advise  me,"  observed  Mr.  Slipaway  des- 
perately. 

"No  advice  can  'lelp  you.  Better  look  facts  in 
the  face." 

"I'm  more  afraid  of  looking  her  in  the  face,"  said 
Mr.  Slipaway.  "You  see,  she  gages  my  conduct  by 
that  of  Number  One." 

"Her  first  husband?  Yes,  she  would.  He  was  a 
masterful    man.      Very    pious;    very    puritanical; 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  11 

wouldn't  look  a  woman  in  the  face — especially  on 
Sunday." 

"Think  I  don't  know  that?"  said  Horatio  ear- 
nestly. "Haven't  I  always  been  trying  to  live  up 
to  the  proud  standard  he  set?" 

Johnnie  almost  smiled;  there  was  a  little  gleam 
of  satisfaction  behind  his  seeming  sympathy.  "Well, 
he  went  with  the  widow,"  he  said  softly.  Mr.  Slip- 
away  looked  startled.  "That  is,"  corrected  Johnnie, 
"the  memory  of  him,  and  what  it  implies!"  Sig- 
nificantly. "Yes;  I'm  afraid  she'll  be  comparing 
you  with  him,  when  she  hears  about  this.  I'm  not 
saying  it  to  be  mean,  Horatio,  but  as  I  said  before, 
look  facts — " 

"There  are  so  many  facts,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway. 
"When  I  look  at  one  and  think  how  badly  I  feel, 
another  pops  up  and  makes  me  feel  worse.  Debts — 
breach-of -promise  woman — and  there's  that  rich 
customer — " 

"Yes;  that's  awful,"  said  Johnnie.  "Maybe 
worse  than  the  dame  mix-up !  They'll  hold  you  lia- 
ble, sure." 

"I  suppose  so,"  assented  Mr.  Slipaway  pensively, 
as  if  fairly  exhausted  with  worrying.  "You  see, 
Johnnie,  I  had  just  heard  there  would  be  a  process- 
server  looking  for  me  on  account  of  her,  and  I  was 


12  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

so  worried  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing.  When 
I  took  that  telephone  message  from  Mr.  Vancourt- 
land,  who  is  one  of  our  richest  customers,  to  buy- 
two  thousand  shares  of  steel,  I  put  in  the  order  by 
mistake  on  a  sell  ticket.  The  firm  hasn't  yet  called 
upon  Mr.  Vancourtland  to  settle — " 

"But  when  they  do?"  said  Johnnie  sympathetic- 
ally. 

"Why,  he's  out  about  fifteen  thousand,  instead  of 
being  in  that  much,  and  all  on  account  of  me.  I'm 
liable — me — with  more  debts  than  cash — domestic 
trouble  brewing,  and — and — oh,  I  wish  I  was  some 
one  else !"  Mr.  Slipaway  exclaimed  fervently. 

"Well,  as  long  as  you  won't  run  away,  or  com- 
mit suicide,  why  don't  you  go  to  one  of  those  swami- 
chaps,  and  get  him  to  propel  your  soul  into  the  in- 
finite? Process-servers,  pale,  passionate  dames 
and  their  ilk,  would  have  some  job  chasing  you 
through  the  blue  empyrean. 

"I  came  to  you  for  comfort,  Johnnie.  Don't 
joke,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway. 

"My  words  may  sound  frivolous,  but  I'm  think- 
ing very  seriously,"  said  Johnnie.  "I'm  simply  rack- 
ing my  brain.    But  the  situation  is  so  serious — " 

"That's  it.  If  I  get  out  of  one  trouble,  another 
will  swamp  me." 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  13 

"Oh,  if  I  were  only  some  one  else,"  repeated  Ho- 
ratio. "I'd  like  to  be  anybody  except  myself — a 
street-car  conductor,  a  janitor — " 

"A  multimillionaire?" 

"Yes;  even  that.  But  what's  the  use  of  wish- 
ing? Though  I  did  read  a  story  the  other  day  about 
some  one  who  exchanged  places  with  some  one  else 
— how  his  soul  hopped — I  forget  how — into  the 
body  of  another  man." 

"Keep  back,"  said  Johnnie.  "I  don't  like  the  way 
you're  looking  at  me." 

"Oh,  that  couldn't  happen,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway 
resignedly.  "But  I'll  tell  you  what  you  could  do. 
Come  home  with  me — to  supper.  I  may  need  you 
— you  know — that  process-server — I  have  a  present- 
iment we'll  find  him  waiting  in  front  of  the  house, 
or  something  like  that.  Anyhow,  don't  desert  me, 
Johnnie." 

Mr.  Briggs  considered;  so  his  dear  friend  Ho- 
ratio wished  to  use  him  as  a  kind  of  buffer  to  stand 
by,  as  it  were.  Well,  there  could  be  no  harm  m 
"standing  by" ;  in  fact,  by  so  doing  Johnnie  might 
find  himself  considerably  edified.  Perhaps  Mrs. 
Slipaway  could  get  a  divorce — the  mills  of  the 
gods  grind  slowly — 

"Oh,  all  right,  old  chap,  I'll  go  along,"  said  John- 


14  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

nie  generously.  "I  did  have  an  engagement,  but 
it's  all  right." 

"You're  a  true  friend,"  observed  Horatio  with  as 
much  gratitude  as  he  was  capable  of,  at  the  moment. 

"Course  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Briggs  modestly. 

And  they  got  on  the  car.  Mr.  Slipaway  lived  in 
the  suburbs. 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  HORATIO  SLIPAWAY  sat  at  the  lit- 
tle house-organ,  playing  Pull  for  the  Shore, 
Sailor.  It  was  a  favorite  "tune"  with  the  good 
lady,  and  "awfully  consoling."  Whenever  she  felt 
a  bit  "down,"  which  was  most  always,  she  played 
Pull  for  the  Shore.  Sometimes,  by  way  of  variety, 
she  indulged  in  Where  Is  My  Wandering  Boy  To- 
night f  or  some  kindred  melody  of  the  good  old 
sort.  Upon  the  wall  were  several  "mottoes" — "The 
Lord  Will  Provide,"  "God  Bless  Our  Home,"  and 
"No  Cross,  No  Crown." 

Mrs.  Slipaway  would  have  been  a  good-looking 
woman,  if  she  had  condescended  to  study  the  fash- 
ion-plates, but  this  she  would  not  do,  from  consci- 
entious scruples.  They  didn't  have  fashion-plates 
in  the  time  of  Job  and  Martha,  and  why  should  they 
have  them  to-day ;  they  represented  a  dangerous  and 
pernicious  modern  influence.  So  Mrs.  Slipaway 
attired  a  naturally  rather  good  figure — for  a  woman 
of  her  age — in  garments  that  were  certainly  not  se- 
lected to  fascinate  and  inveigle,  dangerously,  the 
weaker,  masculine  sex.     No  one,  by  any  stretch  of 

15 


16  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

fancy,  would  have  accused  her  of  vampirish  designs 
on  man,  in  general.  She  had  good  features,  a  dis- 
contented look,  and  a  careless  appearance. 

On  the  wall,  a  stern,  powerfully  featured  man, 
abominably  done  in  crayon,  gazed  down  like  a  guar- 
dian saint.  It  was  Mr.  Slipaway's  predecessor. 
While  Mrs.  Slipaway  played  she  could  gaze  at  this 
coal-black  semblance — a  striking  reminder  of  the 
fact  that  all  flesh  is  dust. 

To-day  Mrs.  Slipaway  found  her  inclinations 
more  indeterminate  than  usual.  She  had  started  to 
read  from  the  book  of  Job,  but  got  only  as  far  as 
where  Satan  smote  the  good  man  with  boils 
from  the  sole  of  his  feet  to  the  crown  of  his  head, 
when  she  lost  her  place.  She  picked  it  up  and  got 
to  where  the  two  friends  came  in  and  wept,  when 
once  more  her  wandering  fancies,  or  half- fancies, 
led  her  thoughts  into  other  channels. 

Reproaching  herself  she  arose  and  occupied  her- 
self at  the  house-organ,  but  not  so  felicitously  as 
usual.  She  pulled  for  the  shore,  but  not  with  cus- 
tomary vim  and  vigor;  as  a  rule  she  was  a  Grace 
Darling  at  the  oars;  and  one  felt  no  apprehensions 
as  to  the  fate  of  the  little  craft  she  manned — or 
womaned.  But  to-day  one  suffered  vague  doubts; 
the  little  craft  seemed  at  the  mercy  of  the  merciless 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  17 

waves.  They  reached  out  hke  the  terrible  clutch- 
ing fingers  of  the  Japanese  prints.  Mrs.  Slipaway 
got  up  from  the  organ ;  leaving  the  little  craft  mid- 
way to  the  shore.  For  the  moment  she  seemed  to 
forget  all  about  it.  Also,  she  gazed  in  the  general 
direction  of  the  crayon  on  the  wall  and  seemed  to 
forget  all  about  him. 

She  stood  in  a  brown  study  and  even  the  entrance 
of  their  one  servant  did  not  arouse  her. 

"Sure,  the  butcher's  in  the  kitchen  and  he  wants 
his  money,"  said  the  girl. 

"Tell  him  to  see  Mr.  Slipaway,"  said  Mrs.  Slip- 
away  absently. 

"I  have,  and  'Much  good  that  will  do,'  says  he." 

"We  shall  trade  there  no  more,"  said  Mrs.  Slip- 
away. 

"And  the  grocer's  boy  wanted  to  know  when  his 
father  would  get  his?"  went  on  the  girl.  "He  asked 
me  to  ask  you." 

"That  will  do,  Bridget,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  with 
much  dignity.  "You  will  hold  no  further  conver- 
sation with  these  people.    The  door-bell,  Bridget." 

Bridget  went  to  the  door,  leaving  Mrs.  Slipaway 
greatly  annoyed.  For  some  time,  Mr.  Slipaway  had 
been  very  reprehensible  in  looking  after  certain  little 
household  matters,  and  when  she  had  called  his  at- 


18  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

tention  to  the  fact,  he  had  invariably  dismissed  the 
matter  with  some  light  or  vague  excuse.  "By  jove, 
he  had  forgotten — quite  slipped  his  memory" — 
"Hadn't  the  butcher  been  paid  yet?"— "Well,  that 
was  an  oversight" — "It  must  and  should  be  remedied 
at  once" — But  the  remedy  did  not  seem  to  material- 
ize; on  the  contrary,  the  situation,  instead  of  im- 
proving, became  worse.  Mrs.  Slipaway  tapped  her 
foot  impatiently.  She  had  a  horror  of  bills.  Num- 
ber One — the  saint  on  the  wall — had  nearly  starved 
her  to  death,  but  he  had  paid  the  bills,  and  she  felt 
it  had  been  a  joyous  martyrdom.  Mr.  Slipaway,  on 
the  contrary,  was  an  eccentric,  but  liberal  provider. 
He  rejoiced  in  surrounding  her  with  luxuries  of  the 
flesh-pot;  no  doubt  about  that.  Only  he  couldn't 
always  pay  for  them.  And  latterly,  the  situation 
had  been  growing  more  acute.  From  unpaid  bills 
to  feminine  recriminations,  is  but  a  natural  step,  and 
for  a  time  life  became  rather  unpleasant  at  home 
for  that  natural  optimist,  Mr.  Horatio  Slipaway. 

He  listened  with  somewhat  of  a  pathetic  smile  to 
Mrs.  Slipaway's  quite  justifiable  observations;  he 
felt  they  were  deserved,  no  doubt,  and  so  did  not 
seek  to  defend  himself.  Besides,  Mrs.  Slipaway  al- 
ways told  the  truth — he  had  an  enormous  respect 
for  her — and  so  he  realized  perfectly  his  own  de- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  19 

linquencies  and  numerous  short-comings.  He  even 
spoke  blithely  of  the  butcher  and  the  baker  and  can- 
dlestick-maker— but  those  gentlemen  simply  would 
not  be  made  light  of.  How  different  was  their  con- 
duct now  than  it  had  been  when  they  had  solicited 
Mr.  Slipaway's  trade ;  then,  his  rather  generous  man- 
ner of  ordering  had  filled  them  with  delight.  Mr. 
Slipaway  had  seemed  a  prince ;  now  he  was  a  pariah. 
As  this  continued,  Mrs.  Slipaway's  disposition  did 
not  improve — what  woman's  would  have?  She  gave 
Mr.  Slipaway  many  a  bad  five  minutes.  Wherein 
she  was  absolutely  within  her  rights.  Had  Mr,  Slip- 
away asked  her  to  starve  with  him — so  that  he 
could  pay  the  bills,  she  would  cheerfully  and  gladly 
have  acquiesced.  But  Mr.  Slipaway  did  not  ask 
that;  no  doubt,  he  didn't  want  to  starve  himself; 
there  are  people  built  in  that  selfish  fashion. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  situation  thus  perilous 
and  complex  for  Mr.  Slipaway,  that  those  greater 
worries  which  he  had  confided  to  Mr.  Briggs,  had 
arisen. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Slipaway!"  Bridget  returned 
ushering  in  a  dark  clad  figure — that  of  an  old-fash- 
ioned Baptist  minister.  And  yet  the  minister  was 
not  old;  his  dole  fulness  seemed  more  a  habit  than 


20  JHE  NUT  CRACKER 

a  natural  garb.  "My  dear  Mrs.  SHpaway!"  he  re- 
peated.   "And  how  do  you  find  yourself?" 

"Poorly,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"You  do  look  worried,"  he  said,  seating  himself 
on  the  edge  of  a  chair. 

"I  suspect  we  all  have  our  worries,"  observed  Mrs. 
Slipaway. 

"Maybe  they'll  pass,"  said  the  caller. 

"If  they  don't  get  worse,"  said  the  other. 

"True;  if  they  don't  get  worse,"  he  assented. 

"Well,"  he  said  perfunctorily,  "if  people  didn't 
have  worries,  there  wouldn't  be  any  need  for  pas- 
toral calls." 

"There's  some  consolation  in  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Slipaway  mournfully. 

"No  matter  how  many  worries  we  have,  there's 
always  some  one  got  more,"  he  observed. 

"That  cheers  a  little,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"I  haven't  seen  Mr.  Slipaway  at  church  lately," 
he  observed, 

"No;  he's  shding." 

"Seriously?" 

"I'm  afraid  so.  When  a  woman  marries  a  man 
to  reform  him — "  Mrs.  Slipaway  paused;  she  felt 
she  was  going  too  far. 

"As  a  general  proposition,"  said  the  visitor  with 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  21 

an  accent,  "a  woman  who  undertakes  that  responsi- 
bility, has  her  hands  full.  I  am  speaking  only  gen- 
erally, of  course." 

"Of  course."  From  Mrs.  Slipaway.  Perhaps 
the  minister  had  heard  of  all  the  debts.  "Some  peo- 
ple are  careless,"  she  observed. 

"Not  criminally,"  he  had  the  grace  to  put  in. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  hastily.  "I  have 
certainly  been  troubled,"  she  murmured.  "Seems  as 
if  I  must  speak  to  some  one — " 

"Whom  more  appropriate  than" — he  tapped  his 
breast. 

"True.  Who  more  appropriate?  Our  pastoral 
adviser!  It's  bills,  principally.  Whenever  I  speak 
to  Mr.  Slipaway,  he  promises  to  pay,  but  he  forgets. 
Let  us  put  it  that  way.  Besides,  he  hasn't  been  act- 
ing natural  of  late.  There's  something  wrong — 
more  than  butchers  and  bakers — only  I  can't  fathom 
it." 

"You  don't  think  there's  another?"  The  minister 
asked  quickly  and  paused. 

"Another?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Of  course  not." 

"You  don't  mean — woman?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway 
tensely. 

"No,  no."    Hastily.    "Only,  you  see,  I  just  came 


22  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

from  Mrs.  Garvey,  who  had  to  get  a  divorce,  and 
thinking  of  her — poor  woman — the  words  slipped 
out — ridiculous,  of  course." 

"There's  been  a  strange  man  walking  up  and 
down  in  front,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "I  asked  him 
to  leave  the  bill,  and  he  said  it  wasn't  a  bill." 

"No?"  said  the  caller  curiously. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "I  wonder  what  it 
could  have  been?" 

"Court-summons  of  some  kind,  do  you  suppose?" 

Mrs.  Slipaway  started.  "Horatio's  been  seeing 
too  much  of  that  Johnnie  Briggs,"  she  observed. 

"Mr.  Briggs? — who  used — "  again  he  paused. 

"Might  as  well  say  it,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  firmly. 
"Call  on  me.  He  did.  And  he  did  me  the  honor — " 
She  stopped.  "Mr.  Briggs'  motives  might  some- 
times be  questioned,"  she  observed.  "I  got  my 
opinion  of  him.  He  was  always  trying  to  get  me 
to  invest." 

"Invest?"  said  the  caller  curiously.  These  tit- 
bits of  gossip  interested  him  keenly.  Armed  with 
them,  he  could  hope  to  make  his  pastoral  visits  to 
others  interesting. 

"The  insurance  money  from — "  Mrs.  Slipaway 
lifted  her  eyes  to  the  crayon  picture.  "A  sacred 
legacy." 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  23 

"To  be  preserved — ?" 

"Intact,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "Yes;  I  wouldn't 
touch  that  insurance  money  for  any  one." 

"And  quite  proper,"  he  said. 

"Johnnie  Briggs  would  have  liked  to  have  got 
hold  of  it.    He  even — " 

"But  you  preferred  Mr.  Slipaway,"  said  the  caller 
softly. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  fearing  she  had 
been  indiscreet.  "You  do  draw  one  out  so.  It's 
an  art,  don't  you  think,  to  draw  people  out?" 

"Far  be  it  from  me,  to  claim — "  he  began  mod- 
estly. 

"Yes,  I  regard  it  as  a  sacred  souvenir,"  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  SHpaway. 

"Well,  I  must  be  going."    The  caller  arose. 

"You  certainly  have  cheered  me  up,"  said  Mrs. 
Slipaway.     "Drop  in  again." 

The  caller  said  he  would  and  was  about  to  go, 
when  the  bell  rang  again,  and  hardly  had  Bridget 
time  to  open  the  door  when  a  little  man  forced  his 
way  in.  "Are  you  Mr.  Slipaway?"  he  demanded 
rather  belligerently. 

"I  ?"  said  the  caller,  offended. 

"Don't  deny  it.  Well,  this  is  for  you."  And  he 
thrust  a  paper  into  the  minister's  hand. 


24  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Bless  my  soul!"  said  the  latter,  looking  at  it. 
At  that  moment  Horatio  Slipaway  and  Johnnie 
Briggs  peered  in  a  window  at  the  side.  They  heard 
the  exclamations  of  the  minister  as  he  read  from 
the  paper;  they  saw  Mrs.  Slipaway  grab  it — and 
then  Horatio  fled  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MR.  SLIPAWAY  walked  hastily  for  several 
blocks  from  the  neighborhood  of  his  own 
domicile,  with  the  sedulous  Mr,  Briggs  at  his  heels. 
His  feelings  were  not  easily  described ;  he  was  obliv- 
ious of  people  and  his  surroundings;  he  saw  only 
the  growing  consternation  on  the  minister's  face  as 
he  contemplated  the  document  intended  for  him 
(Horatio)  and  containing — what? — A  fanciful  re- 
cital of  Mr.  Slipaway's  amatory  adventures,  drawn 
from  the  inimitable  imagination  of  the  fair  lady  in 
the  case.  No  doubt  she  had  that  "pale,  passionate" 
imagination  of  her  class — female  of  the  species  who 
make  a  habit  of  preying  on  gentlemen  afflicted  with 
sympathetic  inclinations. 

The  indignation  and  amazement  depicted  on  the 
ministerial  countenance  as  he  scrutinized  that 
damning  but  fraudulent  document  was  burned  on 
Mr.  Slipaway's  countenance,  but  what  Mrs.  Slip- 
away's face  expressed  after  she  had  snatched  the 
paper  from  the  caller's  hand,  Mr.  Slipaway  could 
only  divine.     He  had  not  remained  to  contemplate 

25 


26  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

that  picture ;  but  his  imagination  could  paint  it,  with 
all  the  embellishments  of  that  New  England  con- 
science— Mrs.  Slipaway's  heritage — as  an  awful  and 
lowering  background.  Horatio  entertained  the 
greatest  awe  for  that  New  England  conscience ;  he 
had  escaped  the  Pilgrim  fathers,  by  inheritance, 
himself;  his  ancestors  were,  no  doubt,  a  more  friv- 
olous lot. 

And  this  awful  revelation  of  Mr.  Slipaway's  pre- 
sumable marital  waywardness  was  but  the  begin- 
ning. That  mere  clerical  error  which  made  him  re- 
sponsible for  the  loss  of  so  many  thousands  was 
yet  to  be  unfolded  to  the  world's — and  Mrs.  Slip- 
away's— startled  ears. 

Mechanically  Mr.  Slipaway  got  on  a  street-car, 
and  Johnnie — faithful  Johnnie — followed.  Mr. 
Slipaway  did  not  notice  which  way  the  car  was  go- 
ing— whether  toward  the  city,  or  from — what  mat- 
ter? Mr.  Slipaway  was  at  a  loss  where  to  lay  his 
head  that  night.  The  revelation  had  come  at  home 
to-day;  the  other  revelation  might  come  at  the  office 
to-morrow.  His  employers  had  that  New  England 
conscience,  too,  and  would  "make  good"  so  far  as 
the  indignant  customer  was  concerned,  but  where 
would  Horatio  appear  in  the  transaction?  Maybe 
several  courts  would  be  struggling  for  the  posses- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  27 

sion  of  his  person  at  the  same  time!  The  divorce 
courts  would  claim  him  and  the  criminal  courts 
would  reach  out  a  hand  for  his  coat  collar. 

And  the  publicity  ? — Ah,  the  publicity.  That  was 
the  terrible  part  of  it  all — or  one  of  the  most  terri- 
ble features  of  his  horrible  embarrassments !  A  cer- 
tain native  shyness  lurked  behind  Horatio's  natural 
care-free  disposition.  To  have  the  finger  of  scorn 
pointed  at  him — to  know  himself  held  up  to  public 
opprobrium — to  have  his  traits,  his  very  soul,  and 
much  that  wasn't  his  very  soul,  analyzed  by  the 
heartless  scribblers  of  the  press — all  this  was  intol- 
erable. But  of  course  the  worst  of  all  was  Mrs. 
Slipaway,  and  that  New  England  conscience  of  hers. 

"Here,  there — give  me  a  newspaper!"  Johnnie 
nodded  toward  a  newsboy  as  the  car  stopped.  John- 
nie didn't  seem  to  feel  very  bad;  perhaps  he  was 
only  trying  to  cheer  up  Mr.  Slipaway  by  his  (John- 
nie's) cheerful  countenance.  Mr.  Slipaway  gazed 
at  him  with  mingled  reproach  and  wonder.  Johnnie 
rattled  the  paper  and,  opening  it,  began  to  read.  Mr. 
Slipaway  marveled  that  any  one  could  read  a  news- 
paper. For  him,  the  world  seemed  coming  to  an 
end.  Oh,  if  it  only  would.  Just  shuffle  them  all 
off,  altogether — before  he  saw  Mrs.  Slipaway  again 
— ^and  then  have  it  all  over.     That  would  be  a  nice 


28  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

and  comfortable  way  to  settle  everything — and 
there  wouldn't  ever  be  anything  for  any  one  to 
worry  or  care  about  any  more.  But  the  old  world 
wouldn't  end ;  it  was  bound  to  go  on,  getting  more 
complicated  and  perplexing  every  day.  Mr.  Slip- 
away  pondered  mournfully — for  an  optimist.  The 
world  wouldn't  end ;  he  couldn't  run  away  from  his 
fate.  He  always  came  back  to  a  single  wistful  de- 
sire. 

If  only  he  had  been  bom  some  one  else?  Sud- 
denly Johnnie  gave  a  low  chuckle. 

"Hello,"  he  said.    "Here's  a  rum  go." 

"What?"  said  Horatio,  with  his  thoughts  a  thou- 
sand miles  away. 

"Man  fell  off  a  railroad  train,  as  Thomas  Ryan; 
picked  up  unconscious ;  when  he  came  to  he  insisted 
he  was  Mart  Sullivan.    Total  loss  of  identity!" 

"What's  that?"  said  Horatio  quickly. 

"  'Knocked  unconscious  as  Thomas  Ryan,  a  brick- 
layer; came  to  as  Mart  Sullivan,  a  plumber.  Total 
loss  of  memory,'  "  read  Johnnie.  "  'And  the  strangest 
part  of  the  case  is  that  while  Mart  Sullivan  can 
repair  any  old  pipe,  at  the  regular  union  rate  per 
hour,  he  can  not  lay  bricks  at  all.  Not  only  has  he 
emerged  from  his  experience  with  a  totally  new  per- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  29 

sonality,  but  he  has  been  born  again  with  all  the 
skill  and  natural  camouflage  of  his  new  trade.  He 
can  idle  longer  and  charge  as  much  as  any  plumber 
in  the  trade,  and  he  is  already  agitating  a  union  to 
raise  plumbers'  wages  three-quarters  of  a  cent  a 
minute.'  " 

Johnnie  put  down  the  paper.  "Marvelous,"  he 
said. 

Horatio  sighed.  "Some  people  have  the  luck. 
Just  think  of  it !  As  Thomas  Ryan  he  might  have 
owed  everybody.  He  falls  down.  Presto!  all  his 
bills  are  paid.  For  of  course  Mart  Sullivan  wouldn't 
pay  them." 

"Naturally  not,"  said  Johnnie. 

"Maybe  he  is  co-respondent  in  some  delicate  af- 
fair— fellow  bricklayer's  wife,  sister,  or  mother-in- 
law?  On  the  verge  of  something  awful !  Poor  fel- 
low worried  to  death !  At  the  psychological  moment 
tumbles  off  a  train.  Probably  inebriated,  trying  to 
forget  his  troubles.  Wakes  up  blissfully  uncon- 
scious he  ever  had  a  single  worry.  Merrily  he  starts 
making  holes  in  lead  pipes  and  repairing  them.  He 
whistles  at  his  work.  He  sends  his  helper  back  to 
the  shop  for  several  tools.  He  waits  idly  and  hap- 
pily, his  wage-speedometer  working  joyously  all  the 
time.    Lucky  Mart!   He  never  heard  of  the  sister, 


30  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

wife  or  the  fascinating  mother-in-law.  Who 
wouldn't  be  a  plumber?" 

Mr.  Slipaway's  gaze  grew  more  distant.  "Now 
why  was  fate  so  good  to  that  fellow,  and  so  un- 
kind to  me?  If  he  meets  any  saloon-keeper  he  owes 
he  just  gives  them  the  gay  'Ha,  ha !'  Wouldn't  know 
the  man  from  Adam!  As  Mart — what  was  his 
name? — the  plumber,  he  enters  upon  the  primrose 
path.    Why—" 

Mr.  Slipaway  paused;  the  vision  was  too  bliss- 
ful— annoyingly  so.  Then  abruptly  his  expression 
changed;  his  gaze  became  subtle  and  furtive.  He 
looked  sidewise  at  Johnnie;  then  his  look  shifted 
from  the  car  to  the  pavement.  Johnnie's  eyes 
turned  to  his  companion;  something  in  the  latter's 
gaze  held  him. 

"Ha,  ha !"  said  Johnnie  suddenly.    "What  if—?" 

"Don't!"  said  Mr.  Slipaway  hoarsely.  "Some 
people  have  the  luck,"  he  repeated  weakly.  "Little 
bump — world  of  troubles — all  gone — wake  up — like 
new-born  babe — all  joyous — rainbows — sunshine — 
jazz  bands — " 

"I  say?"  said  Johnnie  significantly. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"Don't  you  dare  suggest  it,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway. 

"Ha,"  said  Johnnie.     "It  did  occur  to  you?" 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  31 

"I  was  only  wishing — "  began  Mr.  Slipaway  once 
more,  and  stopped. 

Johnnie  touched  his  arm  lightly.  "Why  don't 
you?"  he  said  in  soft  sibilant  tones. 

Horatio  breathed  hard;  Johnnie  smiled;  the  car 
began  to  stop.    Mr,  Slipaway  arose. 

He  did  not  notice  where  he  was  or  where  the  car 
had  stopped. 


CHAPTER  V 

HE  hastened  to  the  door ;  the  car  again  started ; 
Mr.  SHpaway  got  off — backward!  He  got 
a  rather  hard  bump;  presumably,  a  bit  harder  than 
he  had  intended  so  he  had  some  excuse  to  lie  there, 
as  if  unconscious.  Perhaps  his  head  was  going 
round  and  he  really  did  feel  dizzy  and  found  it  more 
comfortable  just  to  lie  there  without  motion.  The 
car  stopped;  the  excited  conductor  approached;  he 
looked  at  Horatio  and  then  appealed  to  the  passen- 
gers, taking  a  few  names.  They  (the  passengers) 
had  noticed,  of  course,  the  gentleman  had  got  off 
after  the  car  had  started,  and  that  he  had  got  off 
backward,  at  that.  The  street-car  conductor  or 
motorman  were  in  no  way  responsible  for  the  acci- 
dent, nor  could  the  company  be  held  liable.  If  the 
passenger  was  hurt,  it  was  his  own  fault;  no  one 
but  a  country-jay  or  a  fool  would  get  off  a  car  like 
that. 

Horatio  lay  still;  even  when  the  conductor  called 
him  a  few  more  pet  names  he  did  not  jump  up  and 
try  to  punch  the  annoyed  minion  of  the  street- rail- 

32 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  33 

way  corporation.  His  thoughts  were  otherwise 
(and  not  unpleasantly)  occupied.  He  was  trying 
to  make  up  his  mind  WHO  HE  WOULD  BE.  His 
head  pained  him;  his  brains  were  in  a  jumble,  but 
amid  the  confusion,  this  dominant  idea  stood  forth. 
It  was  not  a  disagreeable  sensation,  although  his 
head  did  ache  somewhat,  just  to  lie  there,  and  pon- 
der on  a  choice  of  personalities.  Why,  he  could  be 
whom  he  pleased.  Wasn't  the  thought  great? 
"Whom  he  pleased — " 

Well,  who  should  it  be  ?  He  couldn't  quite  make 
up  his  mind  on  the  instant.  However,  there  was 
time  to  decide.  He  was  master  of  the  situation.  At 
last  he  had  his  grip  on  fate.  It  might  be  nice  to  wake 
up  a  baseball  player,  with  a  crowd  of  adoring  fans 
in  the  background ;  or  an  actor — a  matinee-idol  with 
a  languishing  train  of  love-lorn  females  in  the  back- 
ground. Or  a  dancing-master — or  a  private  secre- 
tary, with  nothing  to  do.  Or — ?  He  could  think 
of  a  hundred  agreeable  kind  of  people  he  would  like 
to  be,  but  he  couldn't  put  his  finger,  at  the  moment, 
on  the  precise  person  into  whose  shoes  he  was  go- 
ing to  jump. 

Let  the  cold  world  pity,  or  abuse  him — after  the 
fashion  of  that  street-car  conductor;  the  joke  was 
on  the  cold  world.    He  heard  now  Johnnie's  voice. 


34  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Do  you  think  he  is  really  unconscious?"  said  that 
snake-in-the-grass. 

"Oh,  no,"  some  one  answered  ironically.  "He's 
just  lying  there  for  fun.     He  enjoys  it." 

"I  wonder?"  said  Johnnie. 

"Poor  man,"  said  a  woman.    "Is  he  dead?" 

"I  think  not,"  said  Johnnie. 

But  Horatio  didn't  mind  anything  Johnnie  said. 
He  felt  blissfully  aloof  from  that  gentleman.  Of 
one  fact  he  was  certain,  whoever  he  decided  to  be, 
he  would  be  a  stranger  to  Johnnie. 

They  now  carried  Horatio  into  a  drug-store; 
there  was  quite  a  bump  on  his  head  and  they  ban- 
daged it.  Then  the  hospital-wagon  came  up  and 
they  took  Horatio  away. 

"Does  any  one  know  who  he  is?"  said  the  med- 
ical man  who  came  with  the  ambulance. 

Johnnie  did  not  answer;  he  reflected.  Also,  he 
was  a  bit  curious.  He  felt  that  Mr.  Slipaway  could 
have  answered  for  himself.  Why  didn't  he?  John- 
nie decided  to  await  developments.  Possibly  he  also 
thought:  Give  Mr.  Slipaway  rope  enough,  etc. 
Maybe  Mr.  Slipaway  was  jumping  from  the  frying- 
pan  into  the  fire.  H  that  should  prove  the  case, 
Johnnie  would  be  rather  pleased.  His  liking  for 
that  gentleman,  after  the  latter  had  won  the  widow 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  35 

and  that  sacred  legacy,  was  not  to  be  measured. 
That  sacred  legacy  Johnnie  had  coveted  and  re- 
garded as  his  own  special  loot,  when  lo,  and  behold, 
the  blithe  Horatio  had  carried  off  the  prize.  But 
revenge  was  sweet.  Johnnie  wondered  at  Horatio's 
bold  daring.  He  divined  his  project.  And  divin- 
ing, still  held  his  peace,  and  his  tongue.  Before  it's 
over,  he'll  wish  he  hadn't  done  it,  thought  Johnnie, 
with  supreme  satisfaction.  Johnnie  could  see  a  heap 
of  unpleasant  complications  for  Horatio. 

But  Mr.  Slipaway  saw  only  the  world — ^his  new 
world — in  roseate  hues.  He  dreamed  blissfully  in 
the  ambulance.  At  the  hospital  he  woke  up.  He  had 
decided  upon  a  personality — a  very  agreeable  per- 
sonality. It  came  to  him  like  an  inspiration.  He 
knew  just  the  person  he  wanted  to  be,  and  the  best 
of  it  was,  he  could  be  that  person. 

"He  seems  to  be  coming  to  himself,"  observed  one 
of  the  nurses,  after  Horatio  had  been  tucked  into  a 
warm,  clean,  white  bed  among  a  lot  of  other  sick 
people. 

"Doctor  didn't  seem  to  think  he  was  much  hurt," 
said  another  nurse. 

"You  can't  always  tell,"  replied  the  first.  "I 
once  had  a  patient  who  had  just  touched  his  head  on 
the  corner  of  a  mantel,  and  he  died." 


36  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Yes,  there's  heads  and  heads,"  agreed  the  other 
nurse. 

"And  some  nuts  are  thicker  than  others,"  senten- 
tiously  remarked  the  one  who  had  spoken  first. 
"These  cracked-nut  cases  are  certainly  very  hard  to 
prognosticate." 

At  which  precise  moment,  Horatio  opened  his 
eyes  and  gazed  around  him. 

"Where  am  I?"  he  murmured. 

"Isn't  he  the  original  old  dear?"  whispered  one 
nurse  to  the  other. 

Horatio  smiled  sweetly.  The  nurse  placed  her 
cool  hand  on  his  fevered  brow. 

"How  does  it  feel?"  she  asked. 

"Pretty  good." 

"Quite  like  yourself?" 

Horatio  started.    "Yes ;  I  feel  quite  like  myself." 

"By  the  way,  the  doctor  asked  me  to  get  your 
name,  when  you  came  to." 

"My  name?"  said  Horatio.  "Oh!  William  Car- 
ter!" 

"William  Carter,"  she  repeated,  writing  it  on  a 
slip  of  paper. 

"To  my  friends — Bill  Carter.    That's  my  name." 

"And  your  residence?" 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  37 


"South  America." 
"Oh!" 


'You  see  I  just  came  back." 

"Came  back?" 

"Yes ;  I've  been  away  for  years." 

*So  you  are  a  stranger  here?" 

*A  total  stranger,"  said  Horatio  solemnly. 

"That  might  account  for  it,"  she  observed. 

"What?" 

"Your  getting  off  a  street-car  backward.  I  sup- 
pose you  only  ride  mules  and  llamas  where  you  come 
from?" 

"Our  principal  means  of  human  transportation," 
observed  Horatio. 

And  then  she  felt  his  pulse. 

"Almost  normal." 

"Can  I  get  up  now  and  go?"  asked  Horatio.  Al- 
ready he  wanted  to  stretch  his  wings.  But  the  nurse 
shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  no,  you  couldn't  get  up  yet.  You  must  have 
been  hurt  pretty  bad,  to  have  stayed  unconscious  so 
long.  And  the  doctor  doesn't  like  to  take  any 
chances  with  these  cracked  n —  damaged-head  cases. 
He'll  probably  keep  you  here  twenty- four  hours  at 
least,  to  find  out  if  any  complications  arise." 


38  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Complications?"  said  Mr.  Slipaway.  "What 
complications  could  arise?" 

"Oh,  he  might  want  to  probe,  or  do  something." 

Mr.  Slipaway  stirred  uneasily. 

"He's  such  a  conscientious  doctor,"  said  the  nurse. 
"But  there !  don't  worry.    I'm  quite  sure  you're  all 

right." 

"I'm   sure,   too,"    said   Mr.    Slipaway  heartily. 
"Why,  I  don't  feel  as  if  there  was  a  thing  the  mat- 
ter with  me." 

"Remember  everything?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Well,  that's  a  very  good  sign,"  said  the  nurse. 
"Sometimes  these  damaged-head  cases  have  queer 
ideas." 

"Mine's  clear  as  a  bell,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway. 
"Didn't  I  tell  you  my  name  right  off  ?" 

"You  certainly  did,"  she  said  reassuringly. 
"Some  damaged-head  cases  forget  their  names,  but 
you  had  yours  right  at  your  tongue's  end.  Now  go 
to  sleep,  and  when  you  wake  up,  you'll  be  all  nice 
and  perfectly  well." 

Mr.  Slipaway  closed  his  eyes,  but  not  to  sleep. 
He  was  very  busy  planning.  He  and  Bill  Carter 
had  been  boyhood  friends  in  the  little  village,  not 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  39 

very  far  away.  Bill  had  always  been  of  a  reckless 
joyous  nature.  The  little  village  hadn't  been  big 
enough  to  hold  his  high  spirits;  so  Bill  had  gone 
away — to  South  America.  Some  people  said  he 
had  become  a  bold  buccaneer  in  the  cause  of  sundry 
republics ;  others  that  he  had  struck  a  mine,  and  be- 
come rich,  after  which  all  information  about  him 
had  ceased.  Report  said  he  had  been  killed;  at  any 
rate,  he  had  completely  disappeared. 

As  Bill  Carter,  a  vista  of  adventure  unfolded  be- 
fore Horatio's  pleased  vision.  He  liked  to  think 
of  himself  as  that  bold  dashing  personality.  And 
had  not  Bill  always  been  his  boyhood  idol?  Already 
he  could  feel  the  inspiration  of  Bill.  The  thought 
of  that  gentleman's  spirit  and  high  buoyant  tem- 
perament was  as  wine  to  Horatio's  soul.  Why,  Bill 
was  capable  of  great  deeds;  he,  Horatio,  had  been 
but  a  worm.  He  saw  himself  doing  things  as  Bill 
would  do  them.  He  would  be  a  credit  to  Bill.  He 
could  not  imagine  himself  ever  as  Horatio  Slipaway 
again.  Horatio,  forsooth ! — who  hardly  dared  call 
his  soul  his  own.  Nothing  timorous  about  him 
(Bill)  now.  He  kept  calling  himself  Bill  Carter  in 
his  own  mind,  so  as  to  get  fully  accustomed  to  him- 
self as  Bill  Carter.    He  had  once  heard  that  if  you 


40  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

repeat  often  enough  to  yourself  anything  that  isn't 
so,  you  gradually  come  to  think  the  fallacy  a  verity. 
That  was  the  case  with  Horatio. 

"My  name's  Bill  Carter,  and  I  don't  give  a  d — 
who  knows  it,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Even  his  way  of  expressing  himself,  to  himself, 
had  become  Bill's.  That's  the  way  Bill  would  talk. 
Mr.  Slipaway  dozed  happily. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JOHNNIE  BRIGGS  awaited  developments. 
Johnnie  was  a  good  waiter.  Also,  he  was  a 
good  dissembler.  In  a  way,  he  felt  that  Horatio 
had  robbed  him,  for  Johnnie  had  once  figured  out 
just  the  place  where  he  meant  to  put  the  widow's 
nest-egg,  and  it  had  been  most  annoying  to  have 
Horatio  come  along  and  bear  away  that  nice  fat 
insurance-pot,  together  with  the  fair  possessor 
thereof.  For  it  had  been  the  thought  of  that  treas- 
ure that  had  caused  Johnnie  once  to  propose  to  the 
lady.  That  her  declination  had  been  frank  and  to 
the  point  did  not  serve  to  dissuade  Johnnie  he  had 
been  cheated  out  of  something  substantial,  in  a 
worldly  sense,  by  the  quite  inoffensive  Mr.  Slip- 
away. 

"No,  Johnnie,"  the  widow  had  told  him  firmly. 
"It  isn't  I  you  want  to  marry;  it's  that  sacred 
legacy.  That  memory  of  a  man  who  is  now  in  a 
happier  sphere.  And  the  worst  is,  Johnnie,  I'm 
afraid  you  might  persuade  me  to  part  with  it — you 
and  your  glib  tongue  and  smooth  ways,  if  I  accepted 

41 


42  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

you.  So  for  the  sake  of  that  tender  memorial,  I 
won't  marry  you,  Johnnie.  Instead,  I  have  con- 
cluded to  marry  Mr.  Slipaway.  I  can  keep  that  sa- 
cred trust  from  him.  He  might  timidly  suggest  my 
parting  with  some  of  it  for  expenses,  but  that  is  all. 
I  know  my  first  husband's  wishes  in  the  matter, 
Johnnie,  and  I  am  quite  sure  he  would  not  approve 
of  your  marrying  that  souvenir  of  his  affections  for 
me. 

The  widow's  words  had  a  ring  of  finality  about 
them.  Nevertheless,  Johnnie  felt  that  had  Horatio 
kept  out  of  the  affair,  he  (Johnnie)  might  have  won 
out.  Anyhow,  the  more  complicated  grew  Horatio's 
troubles,  the  more,  secretly,  Johnnie  rubbed  his 
hands.  He  even  began  figuring  that  if  she  and  Mr. 
Slipaway  were  divorced,  that  nest-egg  might,  once 
more,  be  within  his  (Johnnie's)  possible  grasp. 
Johnnie  had  in  mind  a  zinc-prospect  he  could  de- 
velop with  that  nest-egg.  Indeed,  there  were  times 
when  Johnnie  felt  the  only  thing  that  separated  him 
from  a  dazzling  fortune  was  the  non-possession  of 
that  nest-egg.  The  thought  of  it  had  become  an  ob- 
session with  him. 

Mr.  Briggs  had  a  premonition  that  before  very 
long  he  would  hear  from  the  fair  possessor  of  that 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  43 

coveted  nest-egg.  Nor  was  he  wrong.  About 
twenty-four  hours  after  Mr.  Slipaway's  sad  "acci- 
dent," Mrs.  SHpaway  called  up  Johnnie  Briggs  at 
his  office. 

"Mr.  Briggs,  I  called  you  up  to  ask  you  about  Mr. 
Slipaway.    Do  you  know  where  I  can  find  him?" 

"I  would  suggest  calling  him  at  his  office,"  said 
Mr.  Briggs  in  his  softest  tones. 

"I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "but  he  hasn't 
been  there,  to-day." 

"No?"  said  Johmiie,  in  accents  of  well- feigned 
surprise. 

"And  he  didn't  come  home  last  night,"  said  the 
lady. 

"Oh!"  said  Johnnie,  as  if  endeavoring  to  mask 
his  deep  disapproval. 

"No,"  said  the  lady.  Her  voice  was  more  om- 
inous than  apprehensive.  It  spoke  volumes  for 
what  Mr.  Slipaway  might  expect  when  he  did  return 
to  his  happy  fireside.  "It  is  quite  unlike  Mr.  Slip- 
away voluntarily  thus  to  absent  himself,  and  I  am 
therefore  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
matter." 

Johnnie  whistled. 

"I  know,"  continued  the  lady,  "you  see  a  good 


44  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

deal  of  Mr.  Slipaway,  and  I  thought,  in  consequence, 
I  would  call  you  and  inquire  if  you  could  give  me 
any  information?" 

*T  am  delighted  to  have  you  call  upon  me  for  any 
service,  my  dear  Mrs.  Slipaway,"  said  Johnnie  in 
his  courtliest  manner,  "and  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  of 
any  assistance  in  this — ah — delicate  matter." 

"I  didn't  know  but  what  you  might  have  been 
with  him,"  observed  the  lady  succinctly. 

"Me?"  said  Johnnie  in  a  somewhat  hurt  tone. 
"Out  all  night  ?  Me,  a  fireside  body !  Why,  I'm  a 
regular  home-ptrson.  I  wouldn't  stay  out  all  night 
for  anything." 

He  heard  a  slight  sniff  at  the  other  end  of  the 
line.  Mrs.  Slipaway  was  not  to  be  deceived  by  mas- 
culine camouflage. 

"It  is  certainly  very  strange,"  said  the  lady,  re- 
verting at  once  to  the  subject  of  Mr.  Slipaway. 

Johnnie  smiled;  things  were  beginning  to  get 
most  interesting,  but  still  he  volunteered  no  infor- 
mation.   He  felt  himself  playing  a  very  deep  game. 

"Have  you — ah ! — reported  the  matter  to  the  po- 
lice?" he  said  non-committally. 

"I  have  not,"  she  returned.  "Somehow,  I  do  not 
think  he  is  locked  up." 

"No?   I  have  heard  of  perfectly  innocent  persons 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  45 

being  locked  up.  I  wouldn't  imply  Mr.  Slipaway 
had  been  really  guilty  of  any  crime,  of  course." 
Yet  Johnnie's  voice  implied  that  he  wouldn't  be  ex- 
actly surprised  if  his  old  friend  Horatio  had  gone 
out  and  done  something  that  might  have  led  to  his 
forcible  incarceration.  His  manner  was  that  of  one 
who  would  prepare  Mrs.  Slipaway  for  the  worst. 
"He  did  seem  dreadfully  worried  yesterday  after- 
noon," continued  Johnnie. 

"No  doubt!"   From  Mrs.  Slipaway  grimly. 

"Mere  little  trifling  financial  difficulties,"  went  on 
Johnnie,  making  light — too  light — of  the  matter.  "I 
don't  like  to  suggest  it,  but — "  Johnnie  paused. 

"No ;  he  hasn't  made  way  with  himself,"  said  the 
lady.  "Some  men  might  under  the  circumstances, 
but — "  It  was  her  turn  to  pause.  Johnnie  coughed 
discreetly — just  as  if  he  hadn't  heard. 

"You  don't  suppose  any  accident — "  he  now  ven- 
tured to  suggest. 

"Accident?"  breathed  the  lady,  with  rising  ac- 
cents. 

"Run  over  by  an  automobile — thumped  by  a  thug 
— sand-bagged — oh,  one  of  those  accidents  that  are 
apt  to  happen  to  any  one." 

"Somehow,  I  don't  think  he  has  been  seriously 
injured,"  said  the  lady.    There  was  a  reason  for 


46  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

Horatio  not  wanting  to  come  home — that  thought 
was  more  in  her  mind. 

"Hope  not,"  said  Johnnie  fen^ently.  "Gee! 
You're  getting  me  worried — " 

"I  don't  beheve  I  should  worry — exactly,"  mur- 
mured the  lady. 

"But,  great  Scott !  He  may  be — why — why  don't 
you  call  up  the  hospitals?" 

"Think  I  shall,"  she  said  tranquilly,  and  rang  off. 

Johnnie  hung  up  the  phone.  At  that  moment  he 
looked  very  well  pleased  with  himself.  Mr.  Slipa- 
way  had  come  to,  long  before  this,  no  doubt — and 
he  had  not  apprised  his  wife  of  his  accident.  Ergo! 
— Johnnie  did  a  dance-step.  Perhaps  the  nest-egg 
wouldn't  be  so  unattainable,  after  all. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  called  up  the  hospitals  and  in- 
quired about  the  emergency  cases.  No;  no  one  by 
the  name  of  Slipaway  had  been  received  during  the 
past  twenty-four  hours  by  any  of  the  institutions. 
At  one  of  them,  however,  they  had  an  unconscious 
patient  who  had  been  shocked  by  an  electric  wire. 
They  had  no  idea  who  the  man  was,  and  if  Mrs. 
Slipaway  cared  to  call  ? — Mrs.  Slipaway  would  call. 

She  did.  She  was  led  to  a  bed  where  a  man  lay. 
He  was  a  big,  shambling  figure  of  a  man,  with  dark 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  47 

hair.  Mr.  SHpaway  had  light  hair  and  he  was  rather 
small. 

"No;  that  isn't  my  husband,"  observed  Mrs. 
Slipaway,  when  at  that  moment  some  one  walked 
down  the  aisle  of  the  ward.  Mrs.  Slipaway  gasped. 
"That — that — "  she  began. 

"That's  Mr.  Carter  —  William  Carter,  he  calls 
himself—" 

"Carter?"  gasped  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Yes;  he  was  brought  in  yesterday.  Fell  from 
a  street-car.  His  injury,  however,  was  very  slight, 
and  now  he's  leaving — discharged.  He's  from  South 
America.  Poor  man!  I  don't  suppose  they  have 
street-cars  down  there — and  he  got  off  backward — " 

"Why — why — "  stammered  Mrs.  Slipaway,  at 
which  precise  moment  the  reincarnated  Bill  chanced 
to  turn  his  head,  just  before  leaving  the  ward.  His 
gaze  fell  upon  Mrs.  Slipaway,  and  that  good  lady 
naturally  expected  a  swift  response  of  recognition. 
Instead,  Mr.  William  Carter's  face  did  not  change 
in  the  least;  his  expression  was  jaunty,  debonaire. 
His  glance,  in  which  there  was  no  expression  to 
indicate  he  had  ever  seen  Mrs.  Slipaway  before, 
passed  from  that  much  amazed  lady  to  the  nurse. 

"Adios!"  He  waved  his  hand  with  much  gallantry 
to  the  nurse;  murmured  more  words  which  might 


48  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

have  been  Spanish;  touched  his  fingers  to  his  lips, 
flicked  them  coquettishly  to  the  white-robed  attend- 
ant, and  then  vanished. 

"Well,  I'm — I'm — "  gasped  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Those  South  Americans  are  very  polite,  aren't 
they?"  said  the  nurse,  obviously  flattered  by  the  re- 
incarnated Bill's  ardent  manner  of  leave-taking. 

"South  Americans?"  stammered  the  caller. 

"Most  persons,  when  they  leave,  just  bark  good- 
by  at  you.  Just  as  if  they're  glad  to  get  away.  Not 
very  polite,  I  call  it." 

Mrs.  Slipaway  breathed  deeply.  "Did  he  say  he 
was  from  South  America?" 

"Of  course.  He  is.  He  told  me  all  about  his 
life.    I  never  met  a  more  sympathetic  patient." 

Mrs.  Slipaway's  face  was  a  study. 

"You  see,  he's  been  there  for  nearly  twenty 
years,"  went  on  the  nurse. 

"Twenty  years?"  Mrs.  Slipaway  mechanically 
raised  her  hand  to  her  brow. 

"He  left  home  when  hardly  more  than  a  boy." 

Mrs.  Slipaway  gazed  toward  the  door  through 
which  the  reincarnated  Bill  had  vanished. 

"And  he's  so  glad  to  get  back,"  continued  the 
nurse. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  49 

"After  twenty  years?"  murmured  Mrs.  Slipaway, 
as  if  hardly  knowing  what  she  was  saying. 

"Twenty  years  of  hardship  and  adventure,"  went 
on  her  informant. 

"Hardship — adventure — "  muttered  Mrs.  Slipa- 
way. 

"Oh,  he  tells  the  most  wonderful  stories.  You 
see,  he  was  in  Patagonia,  or  was  it  Bolivia?  I  for- 
get which." 

"Say  both,"  the  other  said  mechanically. 

"Yes ;  I  dare  say.   He  has  been  a  great  traveler." 

Mr.  Slipaway  had  hardly  ever  left  home.  His 
traveling  had  been  confined  to  a  very  narrow  cir- 
cumference. Mrs.  Slipaway  vaguely  began  to  won- 
der if  it  was  all  a  dream. 

"You  seem  to  have  become — well,  rather  inter- 
ested in  your  patient?"  she  murmured  perfunctorily. 

"Oh,  yes.  The  doctors  encourage  us  to.  Study 
their  psychology,  they  call  it.  After  you  know  a 
little  about  a  patient's  psychology  you  can  handle 
the  case  so  much  more  efficiently  and  intelligently. 
The  modern  way!  Encourage  the  patient;  let  him 
talk  about  himself.   Helps  him  get  well." 

"This — ah! — patient  doesn't  seem  to  have  been 
very  badly  hurt?"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway  slowly. 


50  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Fortunately  not.  The  doctor  put  him  through 
a  memory  test,  and  found  the  result  perfect." 

"My  word !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Slipaway.  She  could 
think  of  nothing  stronger  to  say  at  the  moment. 

"Yes;  the  patient  remembered  every  little  detail 
—all  his  past  Hfe!" 

"Did  he  ever  mention  having  been  married?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"To  a  Brazilian  lady — " 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"By  whom  he  had  three  children — " 

"Three?" 

"Three  lovely  children — all  dead !" 

"How  sad !"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  staring  straight 
before  her,  "And  did  he  tell  you  why  he  had  re- 
turned to  America?" 

"Oh,  yes.  To  revisit  his  little  native  town,  where 
he  was  bom." 

"How  touching!" 

"You  seem  interested  in  him  yourself,"  said  the 
nurse. 

"He  reminds  me  of  some  one — " 

"You  have  known?" 

"Slightly!" 

"These  chance  resemblances  do  happen,"  said  the 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  51 

nurse  psychologically.  "Sometimes  it's  almost 
startling." 

"It  is,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "But  I  mustn't  take 
any  more  of  your  time." 

"Too  bad  you  didn't  find  him  you  came  for!" 
observed  the  nurse  sympathetically. 

"No  use  of  worrying,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"You're  sure  that  electrocuted  case  isn't  him? 
His  face  is  twisted  up  a  bit,  and  when  the  twist 
comes  out — " 

"I'm  quite  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Good  day,  ma'am." 

"Good  day!" 

"Did  you  find  him?"  telephoned  Johnnie  Briggs, 
later  in  the  day. 

"I  did  not,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "His  disappear- 
ance is  a  sad  mystery.    Sad!" 

But  somehow,  Johnnie  thought  her  voice  did  not 
sound  full  of  grief.  Johnnie  wondered.  Also,  he 
rejoiced. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?"  he  said  in  well- 
simulated  sadness. 

"Nothing." 

"If  there  is,  call  upon  me." 

"Thank  you.    At  present  I  want  to  think." 


52  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Well,  don't  brood,"  Johnnie  cautioned  her  so- 
licitously. 

"I  won't,"  she  said,  and  there  was  determination 
in  her  tone. 

"Bully!"  said  Johnnie.    "Keep  up  your  nerve." 

"I  will." 

"Promise,"  said  Johnnie,  with  a  world  of  anxiety. 
He  tried  to  make  his  voice  a  little  shaky. 

"I  promise,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  unemotionally. 

"You  don't  know  how  much  I  admire  your  cour- 
age," avowed  Johnnie,  but  there  was  no  one  now  at 
the  other  end  to  answer.  Mrs.  Slipaway  had,  pre- 
sumably, forsaken  fruitless  conversation  for  much- 
desired  reflection. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  reincarnation  of  Bill  stepped  blithely  on 
his  way.  He  squared  his  shoulders  and  set 
his  pace  in  tune  to  his  spirits.  The  world  was  full 
of  sunshine ;  he  didn't  care  much  where  he  went  or 
what  he  did.  If  he  had  met  the  "passion-pale" 
demoiselle  of  the  typewriter,  he  would  have  gazed 
into  her  hungry  eyes  with  superb  aplomb  and  total 
lack  of  recognition.  Even  his  walk  had  changed  and 
was  now  highly  aggressive.  He  brushed  rather 
forcefully  against  some  one;  Horatio,  of  painful 
memory,  would  have  half-turned  and  shyly  apolo- 
gized. The  reincarnation  of  Bill  frowned  loftily, 
as  much  as  to  say :  "Who  the  deuce  you  bumping 
into?    Have  a  care,  fellow!" 

In  his  new  creation,  Mr.  Slipaway  bought  a  big 
black  cigar,  and,  thrusting  it  between  his  lips,  set 
it  at  an  upward  and  jaunty  angle.  Mr.  Slipaway 
that  had  been  would  have  puffed  away  at  a  rather 
mournful-looking,  long,  cheap  cheroot,  drooping 
from  his  mouth;  the  new  Mr.  Slipaway — or  rather 
Bill  Carter — carried  his  lighted  weed  clenched  be- 

53 


54  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

tween  his  teeth  and  tilted  sportily  skyward,  as  if 
he  didn't  give  a  hang  for  the  world,  or  a  whoop 
who  knew  it.  The  erstwhile  Mr.  Slipaway  had  his 
moments  of  modesty,  or  self-depreciation;  the  made- 
over  Slipaway  was  gloriously  shorn  of  all  traits 
that  partook  of  bashfulness  or  shyness.  No  one 
could  have  a  better  opinion  of  himself  than  the 
renovated  or  transformed  Slipaway. 

But  then,  he  wasn't  really  Slipaway.  That  en- 
tirely distasteful  person  had  slipped  not  into  obliv- 
ion but  into  his  proper  place.  Yes;  he  did  have  a 
place,  albeit  a  humble  one.  In  their  boyhood  days 
Horatio  Slipaway  had  been  a  hero-worshiping 
friend  of  dashing  Bill  Carter.  Henceforth  Horatio 
would  not  be  totally  forgotten,  but  would  shine 
dimly,  in  an  obscure  background,  as  a  little  "shaver" 
who  had  enjoyed  the  proud  privilege  of  having, 
once  upon  a  time,  known  Bill, 

Of  course,  the  reincarnation  of  Bill  had  not  neg- 
lected, in  his  mental  calculations,  the  possibility — 
nay,  probability — of  being  hunted  down,  surrounded 
and  corraled  by  sundry  and  divers  persons,  inter- 
ested in  asserting  or  proving  he  was  really  Horatio 
Slipaway,  But  even  this  contingency  carried  with 
it  many  saving  clauses.  Mrs.  Slipaway's  reproaches 
or  evidences  of  disapproval,  verbal  or  otherwise, 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  55 

would  lose  most  of  their  weight,  bestowed  upon  one 
who  she  knew  considered  himself  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent person ;  indeed,  a  total  stranger,  to  that  good 
lady.  He  could  appear  surprised;  mildly  interested 
— but  beyond  that  no  emotion  would  assail  him. 
He  would  appear  polite,  of  course ;  maybe  he  would 
wink  at  the  good  lady  and  ask  her  what  was  her 
little  game.    Something  new  in  the  "badger"  line? 

And,  knowing  the  reincarnation  of  Bill  to  be  pro- 
foundly and  irrevocably  possessed  of  the  conviction 
that  he  was  Mr.  William  Carter,  Mrs.  Horatio  Slip- 
away  would  most  certainly  not  wish  to  live  with 
that  gentleman.  To  all  moral  intents  and  purposes 
it  would  be  quite  wicked  and  improper  to  do  so. 
Why,  it  would  be  almost  like  living  with  another 
man.  Indeed,  wouldn't  it  be  just  the  same  thing? 
Besides,  what  would  the  reincarnation  of  Bill  think 
of  her?  What  would  the  minister  say?  The  neigh- 
bors, too?  No;  Mrs.  Horatio  Slipaway  could  not 
take  the  reincarnation  of  Bill  home  with  her,  to 
give  him  a  piece  of  her  mind  about  the  "passion- 
pale"  typist  and  sundry  other  little,  and  big,  mat- 
ters, in  which  that  nincompoop,  Slipaway,  had  been 
such  a  poor  fish  as  to  become  involved. 

As  to  the  "passion-pale"  one,  he  (Bill)  would 
snap  his  fingers  at  her.    He  didn't  know  her,  but 


56  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

he  would  just  as  soon  get  acquainted  if  she  wanted 
to.  It  was  all  one,  to  bluff  old  Bill  Carter;  all  the 
fair  sex  looked  alike  to  him.  Just  as  soon  have  a 
sweetheart  in  every  port!  Hadn't  he  been  a  bold 
sailor-boy  in  his  early  youth?  You  couldn't  do 
much  to  a  man  who  didn't  know  and  couldn't  be 
convinced  he  was  the  chap  you  were  doing  it  to. 
Even  a  pursuing  passion-flower  tripped  and  fell  be- 
fore such  a  devious  and  ungraspable  proposition. 
The  edge  of  malice,  the  sharp  point  of  revenge, 
were  alike  dulled  against  the  armor  of  the  rein- 
carnation of  Bill. 

Mr.  Slipaway  had  once  read  in  a  fairy  tale  of  a 
man  who  was  possessed  of  a  magical  veil,  possess- 
ing the  quality  of  making  the  wearer  thereof  in- 
visible to  the  world.  The  person  who  owned  this 
desirable  veil  could  ironically  chuckle  at  the  impor- 
tunities of  designing  females,  importunate  courtiers 
and  hordes  of  creditors.  Mr.  Slipaway  had,  in  his 
early  childhood,  often  longed  for  this  veil — as  who, 
indeed,  has  not  ?  Now  you're  here,  and  then  you're 
not.  And  you're  not,  when  something  disagreeable 
is  about  to  happen. 

Now  Mr.  Slipaway  didn't  possess  this  wonderful 
veil,  but  he  had  surrounded  himself  with  an  aura 
of  camouflage,  by  means  of  which  practically  the 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  57 

same  results  were  attained.  Psychologically,  he  had 
made  himself  invisible  to  the  world;  psychologically, 
he  could  stay  invisible  as  long  as  he  pleased.  How 
long  he  would  continue  along  the  merry  path  of 
illusion  and  mystification  he  did  not  know.  He  was 
just  gaily  treading  the  primrose  path  of  the  felici- 
tous present.  Let  the  future  look  to  itself;  he,  Bill 
Carter,  was  going  to  enjoy  a  vacation  free  from 
all  worries. 

He  felt  in  his  pockets  to  see  how  he  (Bill)  stood 
financially  at  this  memorable  moment.  Twenty  dol- 
lars— it  was  not  much,  but  that  was  all  he  possessed. 
Yet  that  did  not  worry  him;  he  knew  that  Bill 
would  make  that  twenty  grow;  you  couldn't  keep 
him  down — not  much.  Twenty  dollars,  Bill  would, 
by  hook  or  by  crook,  make  to  grow  like  a  snow- 
ball rolling  over  and  over.  Twenty  dollars,  with 
Bill,  would  soon  become  two  hundred,  or  two  thou- 
sand. The  gentleman  he  (Slipaway)  had  become 
had  always  had  the  luck  of  acquiring  ready  money; 
that  was  one  of  the  reasons  he  (Slipaway)  had 
selected  Bill  as  an  object  for  reincarnation.  What 
would  Bill  do  first  ?   Probably  play  the  horses. 

The  reincarnation  of  Bill  did.  He  had  no  doubt 
of  the  result,  and  so  took  a  very  long  shot ;  indeed, 
he  had  such  confidence  in  the  luck  of  Bill  that  he 


58  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

was  only  sorry  the  shot  wasn't  "longer."  He  would 
have  been  just  as  confident  if  it  had  been  about 
three  hundred  to  one,  instead  of  thirty  to  one.  The 
reincarnation  of  Bill  wasn't  even  surprised  when 
he  took  the  money.  He  was  now  in  a  position  to 
carry  out  the  program  he  had  evolved  in  his  brain 
while  dozing,  or  seeming  to,  and  listening  to  the 
chit-chat  of  his  nurse,  at  the  hospital.  Mr.  Slipaway 
took  a  street-car  to  the  railway  station  and  there 
bought  a  ticket  to  a  certain  little  village  a  few  hours 
distant.  But,  before  boarding  the  train,  he  acquired 
a  small  grip  at  a  store  near  the  station,  and  had 
it  marked  with  the  letters,  "W.  Carter."  After 
which  he  shoved  a  few  magazines  in  the  grip,  lend- 
ing it  weight  and  dignity. 

"Have  you  heard  Bill  Carter's  come  back?"  the 
village  postmaster  observed  to  the  local  doctor  of 
Blinkum,  as  the  latter  dropped  in  the  next  day,  at 
the  usual  hour,  for  his  mail. 

"Carter — Carter — ?"  said  the  doctor,  peering 
anxiously  into  his  mail  (one  letter)  for  any  stray 
checks  that  might  be  —  but  were  not  —  enclosed. 
"Not  that  harum-scarum — " 

"Been  only  one  Bill  Carter  in  this  village  since 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  59 

I  been  here,"  said  the  postmaster,  "and  that's  going 
on  fifty  years." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  concealing  his  dis- 
appointment in  his  mail,  "and  so  Bill's  come  back. 
In  my  day,  I've  seen  the  whole  family  buried,  ex- 
cept Bill." 

"Maybe  you  think  he's  come  back  to  accommo- 
date you"  said  the  postmaster  jocularly.  "So  you 
could  finish  the  job!" 

"Mrs.  Carter  was  the  last  that  was  taken,"  said 
the  other,  ignoring  a  species  of  humor  little  to  his 
liking.  "She  went  while  Bill  was  away.  And  she's 
up  there  in  the  little  churchyard." 

"She  would  be,"  said  the  postmaster  irreverently. 
"Yes;  Bill's  come  back." 

"What  for?"  asked  the  other.  "Everything  was 
sold  for  the  debts — not  enough  to  pay  the  funeral 
expenses.  Old  house  was  foreclosed — went  to  Dea- 
con Jones.  Bill  isn't  surely  coming  back  in  the  ex- 
pectations there  is  any  estate  to  claim." 

"No ;  he  ain't  looking  for  any  estate.  He's  come 
back  for  sentiment." 

"What?"  said  the  doctor. 

"Sentiment,"  repeated  the  postmaster.  "Bill's 
come  back  because  he  had  a  longing  to.    At  least, 


60  THE  ^'UT  CR-\CKER 

that's  what  he  told  the  tavern-keeper,  up  the  road, 
where  he's  stopping.  Says  he  longed  to  see  some 
of  the  old  town  folks — " 

"Jest  a  few  old  relics  of  'em  left,"  said  the  other. 

"Said  he  longed  to  roam  around  among  the 
sights  of  his  happy  childhood." 

"  'Happy  childhood'— did  he  say  that?" 

"He  did." 

"Well,  it  might  have  been  happy  for  Bill,  but 
it  weren't  for  anybody  else.  Bill  could  raise  more — " 

"Cain?"  suggested  the  postmaster. 

"That'll  do!" 

"Also  come  back  just  to  show  folks  the  report 
of  his  demise  was  slightly  exaggerated,"  went  on 
the  other.  "Been  down  in  South  America,  and  he's 
done  well.  He's  got  a  wad  of  money  as  big  around 
as  your  neck.  Maybe  we'd  better  organize  one  of 
those  'Welcome  Home'  committees?"  jocularly. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  acting  as  chairman,"  suggested 
the  doctor. 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  postmaster. 

But  the  other  frowned.     He  didn't  see  the  joke. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THERE  was  a  species  of  fantastic  logic  about 
Horatio  Slipaway's  one-role  act  entitled  "The 
Home-Coming  of  Bill."  After  recovering  conscious- 
ness he  had  professed  to  the  world  in  general  that 
he  was  Mr.  William  Carter.  No  matter  how  ridicu- 
lous his  actions  might  appear  to  himself,  knowing 
he  wasn't  in  reality  that  redoubtable  gentleman,  he 
had  to  go  through  a  certain  performance  with  all 
the  seriousness  that  Mr.  William  Carter  himself 
would  have  displayed  under  precisely  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. What  would  William  Carter  have 
done,  on  his  return  from  South  America,  finding 
himself  in  the  near  proximity,  after  many,  many 
years,  of  the  little  village  where  he  had  first  seen 
the  light  of  day?  Would  he  have  turned  his  back 
on  the  old  town,  with  an  indifferent  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  ?  No,  no !  Mr.  William  Carter  was  a  man 
of  sentiment;  he  would  drop  in  on  the  old  neigh- 
bors, let  them  see  him,  and  how  he  had  prospered 
— apparently — and  exchange  reminiscences. 

Mr.  Carter  would — as  the  reincarnation  of  Bill 

61 


62  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

did — spend  money  lavishly  at  the  little  tavern  on 
any  one  who  remembered  him  and  whom  he  re- 
membered. As  Horatio  Slipaway  had  passed  his 
early  childhood  in  the  little  village  that  had  once 
been  honored  by  the  presence  of  Bill,  the  reincarna- 
tion of  Bill  had  no  difficulty  in  mingling  and  com- 
muning with  sundry  choice  spirits  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Carter's  early  experiences  and  certain  more  or 
less  reprehensible  traits  of  character.  Mr.  Carter 
did  not,  however,  lavish  much  of  his  time  on  these 
sociable  souls  who  hung  around  the  principal  source 
of  village  liquid  refreshment;  he  mingled,  indeed, 
but  with  an  indubitable  consciousness  of  what  was 
due  his  own  high  dignity  as  a  gentleman  of  means 
and  position. 

When  he  departed  they  were  singing  his  praises. 
He  tossed  to  the  barkeeper,  however,  before  going, 
a  bill  of  such  goodly  denomination,  that  they  could 
continue  their  sweet  chortling  in  his  honor.  The  act 
afforded  great  satisfaction  to  that  consciousness 
of  Mr.  Slipaway  which  lurked  somewhere  in  the 
background  of  the  reincarnated  Bill.  The  pale 
ghost  of  all  that  was  left  of  Mr.  Slipaway  was 
pleased  he  could  do  things  in  this  large  generous 
manner.  Why,  he  had  chucked  that  bill  at  the  bar- 
keeper just  like  a  grandee.    As  he  walked  out  he 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  63 

felt  their  concentrated  and  admiring  gaze  focused 
on  the  small  of  his  back.  It  lent  lightness  to  his 
step,  but  as  he  trod  the  shabby  old  streets  of  the 
desolate  old  village  his  look  grew  soberer. 

Here  were  signs  of  attenuation,  not  growth.  The 
village,  instead  of  sprouting,  looked  like  a  withered 
plant.  There  were  no  new  buildings,  no  new  houses, 
no  new  barns,  while  those  that  continued  to  exist 
seemed  rather  to  endure  by  some  gracious  act  of 
providence  than  through  any  specific  ability  on  their 
own  part  not  to  fall  down.  The  reincarnation  of 
Bill  gazed  around  him  mournfully.  At  that  solemn 
moment  he  might  almost  have  sung  with  the  poet : 
"Sweet  Auburn,  loveliest  village  of  the  plain." 

He  paused  at  the  one  general  combination  store 
— which  combination  included,  among  other  depart- 
ments, a  small  and  modest  corner  devoted  to  flowers 
and  plants.  The  proprietor  looked  as  if  he  needed 
sprinkling,  he  was  so  dusty  and  dry.  The  reincar- 
nation of  Bill  at  once  introduced  himself. 

"Land's  sakes!  Bill  Carter  what  threw  a  stone 
through  my  window — ?" 

"The  same." 

"And  put  sand  in  my  sugar  barrel?" 

"Sure  it  was  /  put  the  sand  in?"  laughed  the 
caller. 


64  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

And  so  they  went  on  reciting  more  of  Bill's  mis- 
deeds, and  Horatio  felt  he  was  having  a  real  nice 
time.  Oh,  if  he,  himself,  had  only  done  all  those 
things !  The  deep  inner  consciousness  that  he  hadn't 
was  the  only  secret  pang  he  experienced.  How  he 
regretted  his  comparatively  quiet  and  orderly  child- 
hood! Who  was  the  old  dunderhead  that  said  vir- 
tue was  its  own  reward?  Well,  that  sad  sobersides 
Slipaway  was  now  getting  "some  vacation"  from 
his  former  goody-goody  self.  It  was  such  joy  to  talk 
about  these  juvenile  misdeeds!  li  he,  Horatio  Slip- 
away,  had  come  back  in  his  proper  person,  what 
would  there  have  been  to  talk  about?  Hardly  any- 
thing !   Folks  would  only  have  yawned  and  said : 

"Slipaway?  Slipaway?  Yes;  there  was  some- 
body here  of  that  name.  But  we  don't  remember 
much  about  him,  except  he  was  here.  Went  away 
some  time  ago,  but  don't  remember  just  when." 

That  was  it;  Horatio  had  never  impressed  him- 
self much  on  the  community,  or  any  community. 
He  could  slide  out  of  it  and  not  be  much  missed. 
People  would  speak  languidly  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  once  existed  there;  but  when  you  mentioned 
Bill's  name  they  woke  up.  Mr.  Slipaway  felt  that 
in  his  new  capacity  he  was  acquiring  much  valuable 
information  and  a  brand-new  kind  of  philosophy. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  65 

Be  good,  if  you  can,  but  don't  be  a  nonentity!  He 
began  to  feel  it  was  almost  a  crime  to  be  a  nonen- 
tity. 

For  some  time  he  swelled  and  preened  himself 
with  the  borrowed  plumage  of  Bill's  bright  and 
disorderly  deeds,  and  then  his  face  grew  soberer. 
What  would  Bill  do  now?   What  he,  Horatio,  did. 

"Touchingest  thing  you  ever  saw,"  said  the  com- 
bination store  man  to  the  village  doctor,  who  came 
into  the  place  later  that  day. 

"Referring  to  Bill  Carter  that's  got  back?  I 
heard  he'd  been  up  to  look  at  the  old  home — house 
where  he  was  born." 

"Wasn't  just  what  I  was  referring  to.  Know 
where  he  has  gone?" 

"No." 

"Churchyard !"  Succinctly.  "You  see,  he  and  me 
were  talking  and  exchanging  old-time  anecdotes, 
and  I  was  calling  him  Bill  and  he  was  calling  me 
Hank,  just  as  if  he  wasn't  a  millionaire  and  me 
what  I  be,  when  suddenly  his  face  gets  sober-like. 
*To  think  of  me  jesting  here,  and  her  up  there!' 
At  first  I  didn't  get  his  meaning.  'The  little  church- 
yard,' he  says.  And  then  I  knew  what  he  was  refer- 
ring to." 


66  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Yes ;  Mrs  Carter  died  about  ten  years  after  Will 
went  away,"  said  the  doctor  in  a  practical  profes- 
sional tone.  "She  survived  Mr.  Carter  by  about  six 
years.  The  cause  of  her  demise  was  gin  and  certain 
little  injuries  playfully  inflicted  upon  her  by  Mr. 
Carter  when  she  and  that  gentleman  had  been  in- 
dulging too  freely.  Mr.  Carter,  no  doubt,  died 
as  he  would  have  preferred,  with  his  boots  on,  and 
suffering  from  a  rather  strong  attack  of  D.  T.'s, 
Mrs.  Carter's  end  did  not  attain  quite  to  the  D.  T. 
heights  of  Mr.  Carter's  tumultuous  finale;  the  in- 
juries inflicted  by  Mr.  Carter  developed  complica- 
tions— internally — that  interfered  with  her  natural 
desire  to  follow  his  glorious  example." 

"A  mother's  a  mother  for  a'  that,"  said  the 
storekeeper  solemnly,  paraphrasing  the  poet's  line. 
"And  as  I  were  saying,  it  was  the  touchingest  thing. 
'Make  me  up  a  wreath,'  says  Bill  in  a  low  deep 
voice,  'and  put  in  it  the  kind  of  flowers  that  us't 
to  grow  alongside  the  old  house.'  Here  his  voice 
kinda  broke.  'Sweet-williams?'  says  I.  And  he 
looked  at  me  sorter  sad-like.  'I  believe  they  were 
sweet-williams,'  he  says.  'Your  own  name,  too,' 
says  I,  trying  to  be  jocular-like,  he  looked  so  sol- 
emn. He  breathed  harder.  'You  needn't  mind  about 
the  sweet-williams,'  says  he.     'Might  look  kind  of 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  67 

egotistical,  putting  them  in.  But  there's  those  other 
flowers  that  grew  near  the  well — '  " 

"With  the  moss-covered  bucket!  Moss  would 
grow  on  that  bucket!"  murmured  the  doctor. 

"  'Daisies,  simple  daisies,'  "  went  on  the  store- 
keeper, raising  his  voice  slightly.  "  *And  geraniums 
and  pansies,'  I  reminded  him.  'Yes;  put  them  in. 
Put  them  all  in,'  says  he.  And  you  should  have 
seen  that  wreath  when  I  was  through.  It  was  the 
most  wonderful  wreath.  And  all  the  time  Bill  stood 
there,  and  telling  me  to  spare  no  expense,  and  to 
stick  in  another  of  this  and  that.  I  tell  you  there's 
a  son  to  be  proud  of."  The  storekeeper  spoke  louder. 
He  didn't  quite  like  that  professional,  non-emotional 
expression  on  the  doctor's  face.  "Showed  me  there's 
a  lot  of  good  in  the  world.  Think  of  a  man  com- 
ing back  like  that!  And  taking  all  that  trouble!  I 
tell  you  he  did  me  a  lot  of  good — most  as  much 
good  as  if  I'd  gone  to  church.  And  if  I  was  a 
minister,  /  could  preach  a  sermon  about  it,  and  dash 
it  if  I  wouldn't!  I  bet  I  could  just  preach  a  ser- 
mon that  would  bring  tears  to  the  eyes." 

"No  doubt,"  said  the  doctor  dryly. 

"When  he  spoke  about  the  old  well — " 

"For  which  Mrs.  Carter  had  no  use !"  Sotto  voce, 
from  the  doctor. 


68  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

" — his  voice  was  shaky.  'The  cool  water  from 
those  rocky  depths ! — I  shall  never  forget  the  taste 
of  it!'  says  Bill." 

"Mr.  Carter  never  knew !"  said  the  doctor. 

The  other  shook  his  head  disapprovingly.  "Even 
you  would  have  been  moved,  if  you'd  been  there," 
he  said,  "when  I  offered  to  take  the  wreath  and 
Bill  wouldn't  let  me!  No,  sir;  he  was  bound  to 
carry  it  there  himself.  And  he  did.  He  wouldn't 
trust  it  to  no  one — " 

"For  fear  a  flower  or  two  might  fall  out!" 

The  other  gazed  at  the  doctor  reproachfully.  "If 
I  didn't  know,  Doc,  your  bark  was  worse  than  your 
bite,  I'd  think  you  kinda  stony-hearted." 

"Well,  I  haven't  yet  seen  Mr.  William  Carter, 
the  returned  wanderer,  drinking  from  the  old  well," 
laughed  the  doctor.  "Though  he  was  drinking  some- 
thing when  I  went  by  the  tavern  not  long  ago!" 

"Jest  dropped  in  to  see  what  the  old  place  looked 
like !"  said  the  other. 

"No  doubt!  Old  family  memorial!"  And  the 
doctor  went  out  to  his  buggy  and  drove  away. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MRS.  SLIPAWAY  was  a  methodical  woman 
who  seldom  jumped  to  a  conclusion.  Her 
mental  processes  were  slow,  but  fairly  logical  where 
they  did  not  come  in  contact  with  a  few  inherited 
predilections  by  which  she,  in  common  with  the  rest 
of  the  world,  was  more  or  less  subconsciously 
swayed. 

When  first  she  had  learned  that  an  unknown  man 
had  been  injured  by  a  live  wire  and  was  lying  un- 
conscious in  a  hospital,  her  initial  emotions  were 
those  of  quick  womanly  sympathy;  she  feared  for 
Horatio.  Forgotten  for  the  moment  were  the 
process-server  and  the  "passion-pale"  lady.  Though 
only  for  the  moment !  Mrs.  Slipaway  had  hastened 
to  the  hospital,  full  of  sympathy ;  possibly  hoping 
the  unconscious  man  was  Mr.  Slipaway,  in  which 
event  she  would  later  point  to  a  "lesson."  Retribu- 
tion! The  wicked  shall  not  thrive.  And  when  the 
lesson  had  sunk  in — deeply — she  would  forgive  and 
forget — if  she  could.  And  no  doubt  she  could — in 
time!    Yes,  in  time — plenty  of  time! 

69 


70  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

What,  then,  had  been  her  emotions  when  she  had 
seen  that  the  injured  unconscious  patient  was  not 
her  husband,  but  had  also,  a  moment  later,  observed 
with  her  own  startled  gaze  another  patient,  now 
recovered,  and  who  was  the  perfect  image  of  Mr. 
Horatio  Slipaway,  walk  down  the  ward  and  out  of 
the  door  with  a  backward  look  of  complete  non- 
recognition  for  herself?  With  what  mental  con- 
fusion had  she  listened  to  the  nurse  elucidating  all 
about  the  recovered  patient  and  eliminating  totally 
Mr.  Horatio  Slipaway  and  substituting  therefor  a 
brand-new,  completely  distasteful  stranger  from  a 
far  land,  Mr.  William  Carter,  who  said  "adios" 
instead  of  the  famihar  "ta,  ta!"  and  who  threw 
kisses  in  pantomime  to  forward  hospital  hussies. 

When  Mrs.  Slipaway  had  told  Johnnie  Briggs 
that  she  wanted  to  "think,"  she  had  conveyed  to 
that  too  sedulous  gentleman  her  precise  mental  state 
upon  her  return  from  her  errand  of  mercy  to  the 
hospital.  At  first  she  had  struggled  with  the  prob- 
lem as  a  strange  coincidence.  Frequently  people  did 
look  alike,  but  hardly  to  this  degree.  That  did  seem 
most  unlikely.  Moreover,  there  was  the  "adios" 
and  the  phantom  kisses  to  be  accounted  for;  Mr. 
Slipaway  would  hardly  dare  thus  to  comport  him- 
self before  her  very  eyes,  though  he  might  be  bold 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  71 

as  a  lion  with  "passion-pale"  dames  on  other  occa- 
sions. The  doctor  had  said  the  memory  test  was 
perfect.  That  meant  that  WilHam  Carter  ("Bill,  to 
his  friends")  had  passed  the  test  as  William  Carter. 
His  fall  had  not  injured  his  brain.  All  of  which 
sounded  very  plausible,  but — 

Where  was  Mr.  Slipaway?  He  did  not  come 
home;  she  heard  no  word  of  him.  Fortunately,  the 
"nest-egg"  was  large  and  ample,  and  she  could  very 
well  take  care  of  herself  if  she  wanted  to.  Also 
there  was  a  life  insurance  policy  Horatio  had  left 
behind  him,  but  her  thoughts  did  not  linger  on  this. 
She  did  not  wish  to  have  Mr.  Slipaway  pass  on  to 
the  land  of  shadows;  on  the  contrary,  she  earnestly 
desired  him  to  reappear  in  the  flesh.  She  had  mar- 
ried him  to  reform  him,  and  that  job  was  still  in- 
complete— by  a  long  ways.  You  can't  reform  that 
which  has  mysteriously  disappeared.  Nor  can  you 
forgive — if  not  forget — the  transgressions  of  some 
one  who  has  vanished  into  thin  air.  It  was  very 
puzzling.  Also  it  was  very  annoying.  It  was  like 
trying  to  find  some  particularly  hard  pieces  in  an 
unusually  elaborate  picture  puzzle. 

The  very  audacity  of  Mr.  Slipaway's  plan  baffled 
her.  Her  simple  brain  did  not  delve  into  the  subtle- 
ties of  that  gentleman's  complex  mental  apparatus. 


72  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

If  Mr.  Slipaway  had  had  a  twin  brother — but  the 
brother's  name  would  not  be  Carter.  So  she  ran 
up  against  a  stone  wall  again. 

She  came  back  to  "Carter."  She  had  a  vague 
idea  of  having  heard  of  a  William  Carter — or 
was  it  "Bill  Carter"  ? — somewhere,  sometime.  She 
racked  her  brain,  but  could  not  just  recall.  She 
called  up  Johnnie  Briggs.  He  was  glad  to  hear  her 
voice;  no  doubt  of  that. 

"No  news  of  Horatio?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"No;  but  never  mind  about  that  now!  What  I 
wanted  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Briggs,  is  this:  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  a  Wilham  Carter?" 

"Carter?"  said  Johnnie.  "Carter?  Lemme  see. 
Not's  I  know  of.  Of  course,  there's  lots  of  Car- 
ters.   But  what's  Carter  got  to  do  with  Horatio?" 

"I  didn't  say  he  had  anything  to  do  with  him." 
Mrs.  Slipaway  was  a  woman  quite  capable  of 
keeping  her  own  counsel.  "I  just  asked  you  a  ques- 
tion—that is  all,  Mr.  Briggs." 

"Oh,"  said  Johnnie  disappointedly. 

"Good-by,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Hold  on,"  said  Johnnie,  but  the  lady  was  no 
longer  there. 

For  some  time  after  the  lady  had  rung  ofif  John- 
nie sat  pondering.    "Carter?"— Mrs.  Slipaway  evi- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  73 

dently  had  a  clue  of  some  kind  she  was  working 
on,  though  how  important  Mr.  Briggs  could  not 
divine.  Suddenly  Johnnie  remembered  —  Horatio 
had  once  mentioned  a  Bill  Carter — a  boy  whom 
he  had  known  as  a  "kid"  back  in  the  old  village. 
What  was  the  name  of  the  village  ?  Johnnie  couldn't 
for  the  life  of  him  recall.  Still  thinking,  he  went 
out  for  lunch — a  simple  repast  of  beans  and  custard 
pie,  in  keeping  with  the  modest  purse  and  the  higli 
cost  of  living.  Johnnie  had  his  theories,  and  he  was 
playing  a  waiting  game;  he  would  let  others  fuss 
and  stew  and  he  would  quietly  sit  back.  At  the 
proper  time,  when  Mr.  Slipaway  was  fairly  sus- 
pended by  the  noose  of  his  own  making,  Johnnie 
would  step  in  as  a  sympathetic  friend — of  Mrs.  Slip- 
away. 

But  the  good  lady  had  called  upon  him  for  in- 
formation. It  behooved  him  to  furnish  that  in- 
formation. Johnnie  did  not  know  what  it  portended. 
At  that  moment  a  little  old  gentleman  holding 
guardedly — for  the  place  was  thronged — a  plate  of 
what  purported  to  be  chicken  pie  in  one  hand,  and 
a  cup  of  coffee  in  the  other,  sat  down  beside  John- 
nie. The  latter  recognized  in  his  next-chair  neigh- 
bor a  superannuated  bookkeeper  who  had  been  in 
the  employ  of  Mr.  Slipaway's  employers  for  a  pe- 


74  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

riod  of  years  beyond  the  memory  of  such  compara- 
tively newcomers  into  the  financial  district  as  he 
(Johnnie). 

Mr.  Briggs,  after  an  exchange  of  commonplaces 
with  the  superannuated  gentleman,  led  the  conver- 
sation to  Mr.  Slipaway.  Perhaps  the  superannuated 
gentleman  might  know  the  name  of  the  little  village 
from  which  Horatio  had  hailed.  He  did  not  ask 
the  question  at  once;  he  merely  remarked  that  he 
had  had  some  conversation  with  Mrs.  Slipaway 
about  that  lady's  husband  and  that  Mrs.  Slipaway 
had  seemed  most  anxious. 

"Strangest  case  I  ever  heard  of,"  observed  the 
old  gentleman  after  he  had  devoured  his  chicken 
(veal)  pie  and  had  further  fortified  his  frugal  re- 
past by  skipping  over  to  the  counter  for  a  doughnut. 
"No  troubles — no  worries — happy  home — " 

"Eh?"  said  Johnnie.  Then  —  "I  rather  under- 
stood Horatio  was — well,  a  little  bit  worried  about 
— expenses,"  he  stammered. 

The  old  gentleman  chuckled,  but  he  said  nothing. 
His  manner  made  Johnnie  quite  curious. 

"I  suppose  you — ah! — are  all  very  anxious  he 
should  be  found?  Get  back  to  work,  I  mean?" 
observed  Mr.  Briggs  with  as  much  tact  as  he  was 
capable  of. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  75 

"One  would  infer  that,  wouldn't  one?"  said  the 
other,  and  he  chuckled  again.  At  the  same  time  his 
Adam's  apple  worked  up  and  down,  as  if  antici- 
patorily,  while  he  eyed  the  non-digestible  dough- 
nut. 

"Of  course  he  would,"  said  Johnnie,  with  false 
enthusiasm. 

The  superannuated  gentleman  eyed  the  doughnut 
and  then  he  eyed  Johnnie.  He  seemed  about  to  say 
something,  but  he  didn't.  Mr.  Briggs  reflected  that 
was  one  of  the  chief  and  most  annoying  character- 
istics of  superannuated  gentlemen;  they  appear 
on  the  point  of  giving  utterance  to  most  interesting 
bits  of  conversational  chit-chat,  and  then  they  "peter 
out."  They  arouse  curiosity  without  satisfying  it, 
the  while  certain  physical  idiosyncrasies — like  that 
ascending  and  descending  Adam's  apple  —  make 
themselves  too  pertinently,  if  not  offensively,  ap- 
parent. Instead  of  unburdening  himself  of  a  choice 
morsel  of  gossip,  the  aged  one  took  a  bite.  Then 
he  got  up, 

"Going?"  said  Johnnie.  "I  should  think  you'd 
sit  a  bit  and  let  it  digest." 

The  "old  'un"  turned  a  twinkling  eye  on  John- 
nie. He  knew  Johnnie  was  not  concerned  about  his 
digestion. 


76  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Mr.  Slipaway  talked  to  me  about  financial  anxie- 
ties," observed  Johnnie  desperately.  Perhaps  that, 
he  reflected,  would  get  behind  the  tough  old  skin  of 
this  monument  of  discretion. 

"Indeed?  Financial  anxieties?  Quite  so,"  said 
the  other,  and  with  another  chuckle  walked  out. 

At  that  moment  Johnnie  quite  hated  him.  He 
had  forgotten  to  ask  if  he  knew  the  name  of  the 
village  Horatio  had  come  from.  The  recollection 
of  that  mysterious  chuckle  of  the  superannuated 
bookkeeper  got  on  Mr.  Briggs'  nerves  that  after- 
noon. Horatio  had  told  him  he  had  made  a  mistake 
and  sold,  instead  of  bought,  thousands  of  shares  for 
some  one.  What  if? — Johnnie  suddenly  whistled. 
Then  he  sought  a  financial  paper.  A  light  burst 
upon  Johnnie.  Mr.  Slipaway's  mistake,  instead 
of  being  a  disaster,  had  ultimately  netted  the  lucky 
investor  a  small  fortune.  No  wonder  the  superan- 
nuated one  had  chuckled.  Why,  Mr.  Slipaway 
might  be  regarded  as  a  regular  mascot  by  the 
wealthy  Mr.  Vancourtland — yes,  that  was  the  cus- 
tomer's name.  He  might  even  divide  the  profits  with 
Mr.  Slipaway,  and  intrust  all  his  investing  or  spec- 
ulating to  Horatio.  Whew !  Some  luck  for  Horatio ! 
Out  of  disaster  had  sprung  victory.   But  he  did  not 


,THE  NUT  CRACKER  17 

know.  Fortunately — not!  And  he  (Johnnie)  would 
certainly  not  inform  him. 

Let  him  hide  in  his  hole — wherever  it  might  be 
— with  visions  of  lost  fortunes,  defalcations,  breach 
of  promise  suits,  etc.,  floating  before  him!  Let  him 
think  the  worst!  Nor  would  Mr.  Briggs  breathe 
of  his  suspicions  of  Horatio's  stroke  of  luck  at  the 
office  to  Mrs,  Slipaway.  He  wouldn't  for  the  world 
enhance  Horatio's  reputation  for  financial  shrewd- 
ness or  acumen  in  the  eyes  of  that  lady.  But  later 
Johnnie  ventured  to  call  Mrs.  Slipaway  on  the 
phone. 

"I've  been  thinking  hard  all  day  on  account  of 
you,"  he  said.  "This  morning  you  asked  me  a  ques- 
tion. I  could  not,  at  the  moment,  answer  it.  But 
since  then  I've  recalled  I  have  heard  of  a  William 
Carter,  or  rather  Bill  Carter — " 

Mrs.  Slipaway  murmured  something  about  a  rose 
by  any  name. 

"There  was  a  boy  in  the  little  village  where  Ho- 
ratio— poor  Horatio! — came  from.  His  name  was 
Bill  Carter,    I  recall  Horatio  speaking  of  him." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"But  what  connection  Bill  Carter,  of  those  too 
fleeting  boyhood  days  of  the  past,  could  have  with 


78  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

the  vanished  Horatio  of  the  present  moment,  I  can't 
imagine,"  observed  Mr,  Briggs. 

"Thanks,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"May  I  ask  if  you  are  making  any  progress  in 
your  investigations,  my  dear  Mrs.  Slipaway." 

"I  don't  know  about  progress,"  said  Mrs.  Shp- 
away,  "but  I'm  still  thinking." 

"Oh !"  said  Johnnie.  "By  the  way,  what  was  the 
name  of  the  little  village  Horatio  came  from?" 

"Blinkum,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Blink — ?"  said  Johnnie,  not  quite  catching  it. 

"  'Urn!"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 


M 


CHAPTER  X 

R.  SLIPAWAY  sat  on  a  grass-plot  and 
gazed  with  a  mournful  and  solemn  expres- 
sion at  a  wreath  on  a  mound.  The  shadow  of  a 
weeping  willow  fell  upon  him  and  it  was  an  appro- 
priate shadow  for  such  an  occasion,  for  Mr,  Slipa- 
way's  mood  was  tinged  with  sad  regrets.  He  had 
never  known  a  mother's  tender  care  himself;  an  or- 
phan asylum  had  received  Horatio  at  a  very  youth- 
ful age,  and  later  he  had  been  transplanted  to  the 
none  too  loving  care  of  an  aunt  at  Blinkum.  So  he 
had  rather  brought  up  himself,  as  it  were,  and — he 
had  often  reflected — made  none  too  good  a  job  of 
the  undertaking. 

Now,  as  Horatio  sat  there,  he  tried  to  think  as 
he  would  think  if  fate  had  been  kinder  to  him  and 
he  had  really  enjoyed  those  blessings  of  maternal 
solicitude  which  had  been  Bill's.  Mr.  Slipaway  was 
not  so  well  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Carter's  short- 
comings as  that  disagreeably  cynical  person,  the  vil- 
lage doctor.  With  the  willow  throwing  long  streaks 
of  shade  over  his  drooping  figure,  Mr.   Slipaway 

79 


80  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

imparted  mentally  a  thousand  virtues  and  as  many 
gentle  graces  upon  the  defunct  maternal  authoress 
of  Bill.  His  imagination  roamed  to  heights  of 
touching  sentimentality;  like  a  poet  or  an  artist  cre- 
ating a  wondrous  feminine  figure  from  a  poor  dull 
slattern,  Mr.  Slipavvay  moulded  in  fanciful  outline 
everything  that  the  subject  of  his  thoughts  should 
have  been,  and  nothing  that  she  had  been. 

Two  or  three  villagers  peered  in  on  Mr.  Slipa- 
way;  also  a  certain  strange  lady,  that  is,  strange  to 
the  villagers ;  and  a  strange  gentleman.  The  strange 
gentleman  peered  in  from  one  comer  of  the  ceme- 
tery, and  the  strange  lady  from  another,  and  neither 
knew  the  other  was  there. 

Having  prolonged  his  vigil  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  exigencies  of  the  occasion,  Mr.  Slipaway  arose. 
Then  he  went  over  to  the  wreath  and  extracted 
therefrom  a  simple  flower,  which  he  put  in  his  but- 
ton-hole. After  which  he  gazed  skyward,  heaved  a 
deep  sigh,  and,  with  slow  steps,  moved  from  the 
spot.  By  this  time  Mr.  Slipaway  felt  quite  well 
acquainted  with  the  late  Mrs.  Carter;  so  well  ac- 
quainted, indeed,  that  it  was  as  if  he  had  adopted 
her,  or  a  certain  mythical  personage  symbolical  of 
all  Mrs.  Carter  should  have  represented,  in  a  ma- 
ternal capacity,   if  she  had  not  strayed   from  the 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  81 

straight  and  narrow  path  of  dignity  and  righteous- 
ness into  the  more  tortuous  and  pleasing  byways  of 
bibulous  irresponsibility  and  joyous   forgetfulness. 

As  Mr.  Slipaway  left  the  little  churchyard  and 
started  down  the  road  to  the  tavern,  without  look- 
ing to  the  right  nor  the  left,  the  strange  gentleman 
and  the  strange  lady  who  had  surveyed  Horatio 
from  nearly  opposite  points  of  vantage  without  the 
churchyard,  now  moved  toward  each  other.  The 
strange  gentleman  rounded  a  corner,  and,  walking 
briskly,  came  almost  upon  the  strange  lady  stepping 
from  behind  a  thick  barrier  of  shrubbery. 

"Mrs.  S— " 

"Mr.  B— " 

They  exclaimed  simultaneously.  For  a  moment 
they  stared  at  each  other.  The  lady  was  the  first 
partly  to  recover  herself. 

"Well,  goodness  gracious!"  she  observed. 

"Well,  I'm  hanged!"  said  Johnnie. 

"How'd  you  come  here?" 

"I  might  ask  that  question,  too." 

They  both  eyed  the  departing  figure. 

"I  got  thinking  about  Blinkum,"  said  Johnnie. 
"Poor  Horatio — I  remembered  he  was  born  there." 

"And  you  came  for  sentiment?"  said  Mrs.  Slip- 
away  grimly. 


82  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

A  faint  grin  swept  Johnnie's  face.  "Something 
like  that,"  he  said  sheepishly. 

"Mr.  Briggs,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "you're  hold- 
ing back  something." 

"Me?"  said  Johnnie  guiltily,  thinking  of  how 
Horatio  had  made  that  fortune  for  the  millionaire 
customer  and  thereby  probably  incurred  his  eternal 
gratitude.  "Me?"  repeated  Johnnie.  "I  don't  know 
a  thing  I  haven't  confided  to  you," 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  shaking 
her  head.  "Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  com- 
ing down  here?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I  had  a  theory,"  said  Johnnie. 

"The  point  is,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "is  it  merely 
a  chance  resemblance?" 

"He  parts  his  hair  different,"  observed  Johnnie 
dreamily.  "I  noticed  when  he  took  his  hat  off  as 
he  sat  by  the  little  mound." 

"You  mean  when  he  wiped  his  eyes,"  said  Mrs. 
Slipaway  in  casual,  emotionless  tones.  "Yes;  Ho- 
ratio used  to  part  his  hair  in  the  middle.  Mr.  Car- 
ter pushes  his  back  like  a  pompadour.  Makes  him 
look  kind  of  piratical." 

"Mr.  Carter's  growing  something  that  might  be 
a  luxuriant  mustache  some  day,"  observed  Johnnie. 

"Some  day,"  assented  Mrs.  Slipaway. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  83 

"They  wear  mustaches  down  in  South  America," 
murmured  Johnnie. 

"Maybe  he  forgot  to  bring  his  with  him,"  replied 
the  lady  musingly.   "Some  people  are  so  forgetful." 

Johnnie  shot  her  a  sharp  look;  her  calmness  was 
miraculous;  she  seemed  moving  in  a  world  of  placid 
unconcern.  Johnnie  did  not  understand;  logically, 
she  should  have  been  raging  and  tearing  around,  on 
destruction  bent.  He  had  always  understood  that 
a  woman  deceived,  or  wronged,  or  thinking  herself 
wronged — which  was  the  same  thing — was  like  a 
Kansas  cyclone ;  Mrs.  Slipaway  appeared  as  tranquil 
as  a  summer  day. 

"I  remember  Horatio  speaking  of  Bill  Carter,  but 
I  don't  recall  his  saying  they  looked  almost  as  alike 
as  two  peas,"  remarked  Johnnie  cautiously, 

"Maybe  they  grew  to  look  alike,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Slipaway,  with  a  far-off  look.  "Maybe  they  weren't 
so  much  alike  when  they  were  little  boys  together." 

"That's  so,"  said  Johnnie,  bestowing  on  her  a 
look  of  admiration  for  her  acumen.  "I  never 
thought  of  that." 

"The  question  is,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "does  he 
merely  imagine  it,  or — is  it  pretense?" 

"Great  heavens!"  said  Johnnie,  as  if  the  full  force 
of  her  words  assailed  him  like  a  shock. 


84  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Don't  act  so  surprised,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway, 
eying  him  sharply.  "Another  question  is:  If  it 
isn't — ahem ! — pretense,  or  dupHcity — wouldn't  it  be 
dangerous  to — to  try  to — well,  wake  him  up?  If 
he  really  thinks  it" — Johnnie  coughed — "why,  he's 
like  a  sleep-walker,  isn't  he?" 

"Something  like,"  said  Johnnie  hoarsely. 

"And  I've  heard  it's  awful  dangerous  to  wake 
them  up,"  went  on  Mrs.  Slipaway  tranquilly.  "Gives 
them  too  great  a  start;  stops  the  heart,  or  causes 
apoplexy!  I  knew  of  a  sleep-walking  woman  once 
they  woke  up,  and  she  never  was  the  same,  and 
ultimately  she  died  of  it." 

Johnnie  gazed  at  her  with  rapt  attention.  "What 
is  the  treatment  ?"  he  observed. 

"Let  'em  walk  it  off,"  said  the  lady.  Johnnie 
swallowed;  he  opened  his  mouth  to  say  something, 
but  thought  better  of  it  and  was  silent.  "Then  they 
come  to,  of  their  own  account,  and  don't  know  what 
they've  been  doing  or  where  they've  been  gallivant- 
ing." 

Mr.  Briggs  looked  down.  There  were  depths  to 
Mrs.  Slipaway — great  depths.  He  wanted  to  speak, 
but  felt  he  might  "put  his  foot  in  it" ;  better  reserve 
and  silence  on  his  part,  and  that  sympathetic  helpful 
attitude. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  85 

"You  got  to  give  sleep-walkers,  and  people  like 
that—" 

"Momentarily  irresponsible,"  breathed  Johnnie. 

" — room  to  move  around  in.  You  mustn't  bump 
into  'em,  or  place  barriers  in  front  of  them  for  them 
to  fall  over.  Let  them  roam  a  while !  And  by  and 
by  nature  steps  in — " 

"Ah,  nature  is  a  great  physician,"  said  Johnnie 
fervently.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  walking  on  a  nar- 
row plank.    Only  platitudes  from  him! 

"But,  of  course,  that  may  all  be  based  on  a  false 
theory.  Horatio  may  have  been  very  fond  of  Mr. 
Carter  as  a  boy,  and  that  may  be  the  reason  they 
grew  to  look  so  alike."  Sweetly.  "What  do  you 
think,  Mr.  Briggs?" 

"I — I  don't  think,"  stammered  Johnnie.  These 
were  deep  waters.  "Is  there — anything  I  can  do — 
to  be  of  assistance?"  he  managed  to  stammer. 

"We  might  have  a  bite  to  eat,  and  then  you  could 
put  me  on  the  train,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "I  feel 
that  I  have  accomplished  all  that  is  to  be  done  here 
at  present." 

Mr.  Briggs  gallantly  professed  himself  entirely 
at  the  lady's  service.  The  tavern  was  about  the  only 
place  where  they  could  hope  to  satisfy  those  crav- 
ings of  hunger  which  the  anxieties  of  the  day  had 


86  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

failed  to  stifle  in  Mrs.  Slipaway,  and  thither  John- 
nie, in  knightly  fashion,  escorted  the  good  lady. 

"Mr.  John  Briggs,"  he  wrote  on  the  register. 

And,  beneath  it,  "Mrs.  Horatio  Slipaway." 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Slipaway — or  the  reincarnation 
of  Bill — had  sauntered  from  the  churchyard  to  the 
house  where  Mr.  Carter  was  born. 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said  to  a  woman  hang- 
ing out  the  wash,  "but  may  I  look  at  it?" 

"Phat?"  she  said,  with  foreign  accent. 

"The  old,  old  home,"  said  Mr.  Carter,  quite  aware 
that  several  neighbors  were  watching  him. 

"It's  old  enough,"  she  retorted  coarsely.  "It's 
so  old  it  leaks  like  a  sieve.  Roof's  full  of  holes." 
As  she  spoke  she  hung  up  a  suit  of  underwear  quite 
in  harmony  with  the  roof  in  one  respect. 

But  "holes"  did  not  assuage  Mr.  Carter's  interest 
in  the  antique  shack.  "How  many  times  have  I 
thought  of  it?"  he  observed.  "Its  simple  outlines 
— its  homely  contour !  Though  since  those  days  my 
footsteps  may  have  moved  in  palaces  in  far-off 
chmes!" 

"Phat  the — "  began  the  woman. 

"This  very  gate — how  many  tim.es  have  I  swung 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  87 

on  it  when  a  boy?  I  wonder  if  now,  for  the  sake 
of  *auld  lang  syne,'  I  might  venture — " 

"Don't  do  that.  If  you  do  I'll  have  the  police 
after  you  for  breaking  down  the  gate." 

"Have  you  no  sentiment?"  said  Horatio  reproach- 
fully. 

"I  have  me  washing  to  do." 

"I  was  born  in  this  house,"  said  Horatio. 

"Yez  showed  mighty  poor  taste." 

"Madam,  home  is  where  the  heart  is,"  said  Ho- 
ratio with  a  courtly  bow. 

"Home  is  where  the  washtub  is,  you  mane." 

"Have  you  no  poetry  in  your  soul?" 

"I  have  me  washing  to  put  out."  As  she  spoke 
she  adjusted  a  pair  of  pulchritudinous  stockings, 
which,  filled  by  the  wanton  breeze,  flaunted  them- 
selves with  the  shameless  abandon  of  the  fat  lady 
in  a  burlesque  show. 

Horatio  gazed  modestly  the  other  way.  "How 
many  times  have  I  tied  a  string  to  my  big  toe  and 
hung  it  out  of  that  window,"  he  murmured. 

"See  here,"  she  said,  with  arms  akimbo.  "Phat 
you  mane,  talking  about  your  big  toe  to  a  lady? 
If  you  think  I'll  be  standing  your  insults — " 

'Insults,  madam?"  said  Horatio  gently. 


tn 


88  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"When  a  strange  gentleman  starts  to  talk  about 
ano-tomy  to  a  lady — " 

"I  was  only  a  little  boy  then,  madam,"  said  Ho- 
ratio hastily.   "Perhaps  you  have  a  little  boy — " 

Her  face  relaxed.  She  adjusted  a  pair  of  stock- 
ings all  out  at  the  toes. 

"Ha,  ha!"  said  Horatio. 

She  thrust  a  finger  through,  where  a  big  toe 
would  have  protruded. 

"Ha,  ha!"  said  Horatio  once  more,  idiotically. 

"It's  little  devils  they  are,"  she  said  gently. 

"Does  he  tie  a  string  to  his  big  toe?" 

"He  does  that,"  she  said  grimly.  "And  when  he 
gets  caught,  he — " 

"Same  old  big  toe — same  old  string — same  old 
swimming-hole!"  laughed  Horatio,  and  departed 
gaily.  By  this  time  he  began  to  feel  himself  quite 
an  expert  Ananias ;  but  when  you've  become  a  rein- 
carnation you  might  just  as  well  be  an  artistic  one. 

At  the  tavern  he  saw  the  register  and  had  a  shock. 

"Eh?"  he  exclaimed,  staring  at  the  names  of  Mrs. 
Slipaway  and  Mr.  Briggs. 

"Know  'em?"  said  the  landlord. 

"I  used  to  know  an  Horatio  Slipaway." 

"They  ate  together,  and  then  they  left,"  said  the 
landlord. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  89 

*'Ha!"  said  Horatio.  He  knew  Mrs.  Slipaway  a 
woman  of  unimpeachable  rectitude,  but  what  a  dam- 
aging document  that  page  of  the  record  might  prove 
— say  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  SHpaway !  Only,  since  he 
was  no  longer  Mr.  Slipaway,  he  did  not  need  any 
such  weapon.  For  him  the  "pale,  passionate"  lady 
now  was  as  not.  He  no  longer  feared  her.  But 
Mrs.  Slipaway! —  And  Johnnie  Briggs! —  To- 
gether— on  his  trail? —  No  wonder  Horatio  said 
"Ha!"  and  prepared  to  gird  his  loins.  They  might 
possibly  prove  his  body  once  to  have  belonged  to 
Horatio  Slipaway;  but  his  mind — his  free,  untram- 
meled  mind — that  was  Bill's.  The  thought  revived 
him.  He  squared  his  shoulders,  while  new  visions 
assailed  him — visions  of  the  future!  The  world  was 
his  oyster ;  now  that  he  had  made  his  little  pilgrim- 
age he  would  embark  on  larger  undertakings.  He 
would  show  the  world  what  Bill  Carter  could  do. 
He  would  "tackle"  the  oyster;  insert  a  knife  deftly; 
open  the  bivalve,  and  find  therein  a  treasure — a  great 
big  pearl.    Mr.  Slipaway  half  closed  his  eyes. 

Other  men  found  the  pearl;  why  shouldn't  he? 
Fortune  beckoned  him  —  and  he  was  not  afraid. 
The  reincarnation  of  Bill  would  have  "tackled"  the 
original  Chinese  dragon — let  alone  a  bivalve.  Fig- 
uratively Bill  got  out  his  knife.   Now  for  the  golden 


90  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

adventure!  His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a 
sound  of  martial  music. 

"It's  the  town  band,"  said  the  landlord. 

"Indeed?    Not  bad,"  said  "Bill"  absently. 

"Yes;  there's  five  of  'em,  and  they  do  make  quite 
a  noise." 

"What's  the  cause?"  said  the  guest. 

"You,"  said  the  landlord. 

"Eh?" 

"It's  a  kind  of  welcome  home.  They've  come  to 
serenade  you." 

The  reincarnation  of  Bill  swelled. 

"Maybe  you'll  make  'em  a  little  speech  from  the 
veranda?" 

"You  bet  I  will,"  said  "Bill."  "I'll  talk  to  them 
like  a  Dutch  uncle.  Why,  this — this  is  the  proud- 
est day  of  my  life." 

And  he  did  talk  to  them.  People  afterward  said 
his  silver-tongued  effort  would  have  made  even  the 
great  Wm.  J.  turn  green  with  envy.  Mr. 
Slipaway  —  that  had  been  —  surprised  himself;  he 
had  never  dreamed  he  had  in  him  the  makings  of 
a  great  orator.  Pathos,  bathos,  tragedy,  comedy — 
were  all  one  to  him.  The  more  he  used  his  verbal 
wings  the  greater  became  his  confidence.  Why,  that 
was  all  he  had  ever  needed  to  be  an  orator — con- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  91 

fidence.  He'd  been  an  unconscious  orator  all  these 
years.  He  might  have  been  governor  of  the  state 
if  he'd  known  it  sooner.  Blinkum  said  it  was  a 
proud  day.  And  Blinkum  dubbed  Bill  Carter  her 
"favorite  son,"  and  a  few  local  orators,  including 
the  undertaker,  had  their  "spout,"  after  which  Bill 
asked  all  the  crowd  in  to  have  a  drink. 

Altogether  it  was  rather  a  festal  occasion — the 
homecoming  of  Bill  Carter!  The  only  cloud  to  mar 
the  eventful  happenings  of  the  celebration  was  the 
announcement  that  he  was  leaving  so  soon.  But 
the  little  village  reconciled  itself  to  this  sad  fact 
with  the  proud  realization  that  a  man  of  Bill's  cali- 
ber needed  plenty  of  elbow-room.  The  wide  world 
itself  was  about  the  kind  of  a  pasture  necessary 
for  him  to  browse  in.  Anything  smaller  would  make 
such  an  intellectual  giant  feel  as  if  he  were  sitting 
in  a  straight-jacket.  Only  when  the  women  brought 
their  babies  to  be  kissed  did  Bill  shrink;  there  are 
limits  to  the  condescensions  of  the  great.  But  he 
gallantly  offered  to  kiss  all  the  best-looking  moth- 
ers, and  let  it  go  at  that.  Altogether  he  had  a  bully 
good  time,  to  compensate  him  for  those  sad  sober 
moments  in  the  little  old  churchyard.  He  received 
a  bouquet  on  departing,  not — sweet-williams ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

AS  BILL  CARTER,  Horatio  Slipaway  was  a 
y\  good  deal  like  Columbus  after  embarkation ; 
he  felt  he  simply  had  to  go  on.  He  didn't  dare — 
even  if  he  had  wanted  to — turn  back.  There  might 
be  wild  seas  before  him,  but  he  would  have  to  breast 
them.  Better  the  seas  than  a  divorce  court  and  a 
breach  of  promise  suit,  not  to  mention  possible  crim- 
inal proceedings  instituted  by  his  former  employers. 
Yes ;  best  he  should  be  lost  to  the  world  as  Horatio 
Slipaway. 

But  how  bury  Slipaway?  And  where?  Next  to 
the  late  Mrs.  Carter,  mother  of  Bill?  If  he  only 
could! — right  under  that  weeping  willow!  But  the 
reincarnation  of  Bill  could  think  of  no  way  by  which 
this  most  desirable  consummation  could  be  attained. 
Why  not  bury  Horatio  in  a  watery  grave — a  note 
on  the  bank  of  a  little  lake — an  upturned  boat — 
weary  of  life — one  more  unfortunate?  But  he  aban- 
doned this  expedient  as  trite  and  commonplace,  quite 
unworthy  of  the  genius  of  Bill !  Besides,  they  might 
drag  the  lake,  and,  finding  nothing,  conclude  the 

92 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  93 

alleged  drowning  a  hoax.  Of  course,  it  would  be 
nice  for  Mrs.  S.  if  he  could  thus  dispose  of  the 
obnoxious  and  totally  superfluous  Horatio,  in  which 
event  that  good  lady  could  profit  by  the  insurance 
money  and  possess  two  little  nest-eggs,  instead  of 
one.  But  unfortunately,  the  scheme  did  not  seem 
practical,  and  Mr.  Carter  came  to  the  reluctant  con- 
clusion that  Horatio  would  simply  have  to  join  the 
considerable  army  of  people  who  never  are  ac- 
counted for.  He  hated  to  leave  Horatio  like  that 
— "up  in  the  air,"  as  it  were;  but  there  didn't  seem 
anything  else  to  be  done. 

Of  the  details  of  "Bill's"  peregrinations  and  ad- 
ventures the  following  month  or  two  little  need  be 
said.  His  luck  was  with  him  from  the  start;  there 
was  little  rhyme  or  reason  to  his  exploits,  but  what 
is  the  use  of  logic  when  you  have  a  talisman,  or 
mascot,  in  a  name  ?  For  example,  who  but  a  corsair 
like  Bill  would  have  walked  into  a  bucket-shop  and 
bought  something  he  didn't  know  anything  about, 
just  because  everybody  said  it  was  the  worst  ever, 
never  had  a  show  and  never  would  ?  Sulphur  Com- 
mon; the  kind  of  stuff  a  certain  place  is  paved  with; 
the  only  way  to  touch  it  was  with  a  pitch-fork, 
and  then  not  to  Hft  it,  but  to  jab  it!    So  said  the 


94  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

boys,  and  Bill  listened  to  those  merry  gibes  with  a 
sympathetic  smile. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  feel  kind  of  sorry  for 
Sulphur — seems  so  friendless.  It  don't  seem  to  be- 
long here  at  all.  Sort  of  poor  waif  with  a  forked 
tail  everybody  gives  a  kick  to  as  it  goes  along!  I 
haven't  much  of  the  rhino  with  me — just  a  few 
odd  hundred  dollars  I  was  going  to  buy  a  dinner 
with — but  it  seems  more  charitable  to  bestow  it  upon 
the  sulphur-and-brimstone  orphan." 

How  little  it  takes  to  turn  the  tide  of  opinion 
sometimes!  A  few  sporty  spirits  who  thought  this 
daring  stranger  must  be  possessed  of  special  infor- 
mation on  the  sulphurous  product  fell  in  line.  Then 
some  one  sent  out  a  bulletin :  Firm  of  So-and-So 
buying  Sulphur  Common.  This  started  another  little 
coterie  going.  Who  the  deuce  is  stirring  up  Sulphur? 
folks  began  to  ask.  Then  some  one  sent  out  another 
bulletin.  Ammunition  factories  short  of  sulphur. 
By  and  by  the  lava  began  to  boil.  Bill  sold  all  he 
had  and  then  sold  some  more  he  didn't  have.  In- 
deed, he  pressed  his  luck.  By  the  time  the  young 
volcano  had  ceased  to  sizzle  and  had  settled  down 
to  its  natural  state  of  innocuous  desuetude  he  found 
himself  possessed  of  more  ready  money  than  Ho- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  95 

ratio  Slipaway  had  ever  dreamed  of  having  for  his 
very  own. 

But  this  didn't  surprise  the  reincarnation  of  Bill 
in  the  least.  He  settled  down  to  a  life  of  ease  and 
comfort,  renting  a  bachelor  suite  in  a  suitable  neigh- 
borhood and  taking  unto  himself  a  Jap  servant  to 
look  after  the  place  and  administer  to  his  ("Bill's") 
creature  comforts.  As  a  little  cocktail  mixer  Saki 
had  no  peer.  Even  his  name  suggested  liquid  re- 
freshment. But  before  engaging  the  incomparable 
Saki,  Mr.  Carter  had  an  understanding  with  him. 

"H  any  one  asks  you  how  long  you  been  with 
me,  say  six  years,  Saki,"  admonished  Bill. 

Saki  promptly  swore  by  all  the  Buddhas  he  would 
comply  with  this  request. 

"You  been  with  me — six  years — down  in  South 
America,  Saki,"  said  Bill  impressively. 

"What  honorable  part  South  America?"  asked 
Saki  conscientiously. 

"Make  it  Patagonia,"  said  Bill. 

Saki  wrote  down  the  name,  and  for  several  days 
thereafter,  at  spare  moments,  might  have  been  ob- 
served at  the  public  library,  studying  maps,  books, 
geographies,  consular  reports,  shipping  statistics, 
histories,  etc.,  pertaining  to  Patagonia.   The  litera- 


96  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

ture,  poetry,  public  institutions,  religious  history, 
political  vicissitudes,  changes  of  governments,  the 
habits  and  customs  of  the  people,  street-car  statis- 
tics, or  lack  of  statistics,  its  business  enterprises — no 
information  concerning  the  narrow  strip  of  land  so 
far  below  the  equator  was  too  great  or  too  small  for 
Saki,  Soon  he  became  a  walking  encyclopedia  about 
Patagonia,  the  country  and  its  people.  And  while 
manipulating  Martinis,  he  imparted  this  information 
and  discoursed  pleasantly  and  informingly  in  his 
own  quaint  phraseology,  much  to  the  edification  of 
Bill.  In  Saki  he  had  acquired  a  true  treasure. 
There  were  even  times  when  Bill  felt  Saki  was  a 
greater  artist  than  himself;  Mr.  Carter  had  imag- 
ination— plenty  of  it — but  Saki  went  scientifically 
about  his  mission  of  creating  a  Patagonian  atmos- 
phere of  the  past.  This  he  did  with  child-like  candor 
and  guilelessness.  He  knew  the  name  of  the  street 
where  his  honorable  employer  had  lived;  the  club 
he  had  attended;  the  church  he  was  supposed  to 
have  worshiped  in;  the  dictator  he  dined  with  fre- 
quently; the  friends  he  knew;  a  few  choice  amours 
he  had  had  with  lovely  ladies — 

Mr.  Carter  almost  balked  at  the  ladies,  but  Saki 
looked  so  sad  he  let  them  stand,  though  sometimes, 
being  at  heart  a  modest  man,  so  far  as  gay  sefioritas 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  97 

were  concerned,  he  inwardly  blushed  at  the  libidi- 
nous character  of  these  flights  of  Saki's  poetic  Ori- 
ental brain.  It  was  Saki  who  put  Bill  in  business 
in  Patagonia,  trimming  wool  from  llamas,  and  ex- 
porting same  at  enormous  profits. 

"Trimming  llamas,   eh?"   chuckled   Mr.   Carter 
"Sounds  good!    Like  shearing  the  lambs  down  on 
the  little  ol'  street.   Some  class  in  llamas !" 

"Yes;  llamas  honorable  big  lambs,"  said  Saki  with 
a  child-like  smile. 

"Regular  rams!"  murmured  piratical  Bill,  as  he 
imbibed  a  perfect  cocktail  of  Saki's  exquisite  handi- 
work. 

In  the  haunts  of  "business"  frequented  by  Mr. 
Carter  that  gentleman  found  his  reputation  per- 
ceptibly enhanced  when  he  casually  let  it  be  known 
his  former  occupation  had  been  trimming  llamas 
of  their  wool.  A  gentleman  capable  of  trimming 
llamas,  which  is  a  species  of  exaggerated  lamb,  was 
surely  some  little  trimmer.  And  Bill  had  shown  he 
wasn't  afraid  of  fire  and  brimstone  by  his  plunge 
into  Sulphur. 

It  was  about  this  time  Johnnie  Briggs  happened 
in  one  of  said  haunts  of  the  erstwhile  Horatio — 
now  Bill.  Whether  Mr.  Briggs  came  on  a  little  va- 
cation or  on  a  quest  is  of  no  moment  at  this  moment. 


98  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

He  clapped  his  eyes  on  Horatio  the  first  thing,  but 
that  gentleman  had  so  long  forgotten  he  was  Ho- 
ratio, and  had  become  so  accustomed  to  being  Mr. 
Carter,  that  he  failed  to  greet  the  appearance  of 
Johnnie  even  with  a  start  of  surprise.  Mr.  Briggs 
knew  one  of  the  other  men  of  the  place — having 
conducted  at  one  time  a  clerical  correspondence 
with  the  firm  of  which  this  small  up-town  estab- 
lishment was  a  branch — and  in  due  time  was  intro- 
duced to  one  or  two  customers. 

"Want  you  to  meet  a  most  interesting  chap," 
said  Johnnie's  friend  after  a  bit.  "See  that  man 
over  there?" 

"Chap  with  the  cigar  in  his  mouth  at  an  angle 
like  the  mustache  of  an  unmentionable  person?" 
queried  Mr.  Briggs. 

"Yes;  rakish-looking,  isn't  he?" 

"He  is,"  said  Johnnie,  remembering  the  once 
mild  and  unostentatious  Mr.  Slipaway. 

"That's  Mr.  Bill  Carter." 

"Common  name,"  said  Johnnie  innocently. 

"Nothing  common  about  him,  though.  Drifted  in 
from  Patagonia — " 

"Which?"  observed  Johnnie. 

"Oh,  one  of  those  countries  near  the  Canal,"  said 
the  man. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  99 

"Of  course,"  said  Johnnie. 

"Anybody  who  knows  geography  knows  where 
it  is.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  he  floated  in,  and  the 
first  thing  he  did  was  to  jump  into  the  fiery  pit." 

"Pit  ?"  queried  Johnnie. 

"Sulphur!    Did  he  bum  his  fingers?    Not  he!" 

"Regular  devil,  eh?"  said  Johnnie,  with  a  queer 
look  at  the  seemingly  unconscious  Bill,  who  sat  gaz- 
ing at  the  board  as  if  he  saw  right  through  the 
figures. 

"Yes.  Regular  movie  picture  for  the  'boy  stood 
on  the  burning  deck' — no  flames  could  hurt  him." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Briggs  meditatively. 

"Come  on  over." 

Mr.  Briggs  did. 

"Meet  Mr.  Carter,"  said  Johnnie's  friend. 

"Carter?"  said  Mr.  Briggs,  with  a  slight  inten- 
tional emphasis. 

"Of  Patagonia,"  went  on  the  friend. 

Johnnie  and  Mr.  Carter  shook  hands.  The  latter 
looked  slightly  bored,  as  if  Johnnie  did  not,  at  first 
sight,  quite  measure  up  to  the  standard. 

"Glad  to  know  you,"  observed  Mr.  Briggs 
blithely,  as  if  he  had  never  set  eyes  on  the  other 
gentleman  before. 

"Thanks,"  said  Mr.  Carter  languidly.    "Ditto!" 


100  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

As  he  spoke  he  held  his  cigar  between  his  teeth  at 
an  even  more  offensively  upward  tilt;  indeed,  that 
cigar  looked  quite  insulting  at  the  moment. 

"Mr.  Carter's  business  is  trimming  llamas,"  said 
Johnnie's  friend  jocosely. 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Mr.  Briggs,  who  was 
not  well  versed  in  natural  history. 

"Sheep  with  long  necks,"  said  the  other, 

"So  they  can  swallow  better,"  said  Mr.  Carter, 
looking  Johnnie  full  in  the  eye. 

"Like  some  people,"  observed  Johnnie  pointedly. 
"Who'll  swallow  anything!" 

Mr,  Carter  looked  puzzled.  "Swallow?  —  swal- 
low?— "  Suddenly  he  brightened.  "Oh,  you  mean 
to  ask  us  to  swallow  something — take  a  drink!" 

And  Johnnie  had  to  buy.  He  did  so  with  poor 
grace,  for  Mr.  Briggs  was  a  most  reluctant  spender 
— one  of  the  species  who  always  has  to  hurry  away, 
or  catch  a  train,  or  meet  his  mother-in-law,  when 
his  turn  comes.  Mr.  Carter  ordered  the  most  ex- 
pensive concoction;  Mr.  Briggs  ground  his  teeth. 
He  gritted  them  harder  when  Mr.  Carter  said  to  the 
man  behind :  "The  real  imported  ingredients,  please. 
No  imitation  goods  for  me!" 

"You  don't  like  anything  imitation f"  said  Mr. 
Briggs  through  his  teeth. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  101 

"I  do  not,"  said  Mr.  Carter.  "Only  the  simon- 
pure  genuine  goods  for  me !  When  I  order  a  cham- 
pagne cocktail  I  like  the  bursting  bubbles  of  la  belle 
France.   The  real  thing !   I  want  everything  real — " 

"Real  men — "  observed  Johnnie. 

"Of  course!  About  the  only  kind  we  have  down 
in  Patagonia!   That  open-air  life — " 

"Trimming  llamas!"  sotto  voce,  with  a  slight 
sneer  from  Johnnie. 

" — goes  to  make  real  men,"  went  on  Mr.  Car- 
ter. "I  don't  want  to  brag,  but  we  certainly  do  have 
the  real,  regular,  eighteen-carat  straight  goods  in 
the  male  man  line  down  our  way.  Not  a  make- 
believe  one  in  the  whole  lot!" 

Mr.  Briggs  swallowed  with  difficulty.  "Where  is 
Patagonia?"  he  asked,  taking  a  new  tack. 

"Near  the  Canal,  of  course,"  volunteered  John- 
nie's friend. 

"It  is  not,"  said  Mr.  Carter.  And  he  proceeded 
to  exude  all  manner  of  geographical  information, 
gleaned  from  the  industrious  and  indefatigable  Saki. 
He  knew  all  about  the  rivers  and  the  shores,  the  har- 
bors and  the  channels,  and  the  straits  and  peninsulas ; 
the  maritime  history  of  the  waters ;  the  adventures 
of  the  mariners  of  the  past,  in  this  interesting  part 
of  the  world,  and  so  on.    Much  of  all  this  he  had 


102  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

almost  unconsciously  absorbed  from  the  quaintly 
voluble  Saki  while  the  latter  was  tying  his  em- 
ployer's shoes  or  adjusting  his  shirt-studs,  and  now 
it  welled  forth  from  "Bill"  in  a  trickling  and  en- 
lightening stream. 

"Like  a  regular  travelog,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Johnnie's 
friend  admiringly. 

"Oh,  travelogs  are  made  to  order,"  observed  Mr. 
Briggs  in  a  nasty  tone. 

"That's  so!  When  Mr.  Carter  talks,  you  know 
it's  the  real  thing!" 

Johnnie  curled  his  lip. 

"Why,  half  those  travelog  fellows  take  their  talks 
from  the  encyclopedias,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Briggs' 
friend.    "But  you  can  always  tell." 

"Always?"  said  Johnnie. 

"You  bet!  The  Chinese  have  a  proverb:  One 
seeing  is  better  than  reading  about  anything  twelve 
times." 

"In  other  words,  you  got  to  have  been  there," 
observed  Mr.  Carter  placidly.   "Actual  experience!" 

Johnnie  swallowed  some  of  "his"  the  wrong  way. 

"Don't  lose  any  of  it,"  said  the  sedulous  Mr. 
Carter. 

"I'll  try  not  to,"  returned  Mr.  Briggs,  glaring. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  103 

"Just  think  of  all  those  long  necks  going  to 
waste!"  remarked  Mr.  Carter  dreamily. 

"Whose?"  said  Johnnie's  friend. 

"Llamas' !"  said  Mr.  Carter. 

Mr.  Briggs,  murmuring  an  excuse,  started  to 
leave  the  place  weakly. 

"Going  so  soon?"  murmured  Mr.  Carter.  "Well, 
when  you  drift  around  again,  drop  in."  And  he 
handed  Johnnie  a  card. 

"Sure ;  Mr.  Carter  will  give  us  a  party,  Johnnie," 
said  Mr.  Briggs'  friend. 

"That's  very  kind  of  him,"   remarked  Johnnie 

stiffly. 

"No  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Carter.  "I  like  company 
— real  people,  you  know!" 

"He  means  the  kind  without  frills  or  affectation," 
volunteered  Mr.  Briggs'  friend. 

"Sure ;  a  chap  you  can  look  in  the  eye  and  know 
he's  just  what  he  seems !" 

"Look  out  for  Johnnie,  then,"  observed  the  friend 
of  that  gentleman.    "He's  full  of  duplicity." 

"Is  he?"  said  Mr.  Carter,  rather  severely.  "Never 
mind!"  Generously.  "Friend  of  yours,  friend  of 
mine!"  To  Johnnie's  friend.  "Bring  him  around. 
I  got  a  Jap  boy  who  certainly  knows  how  to  mix 


104  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

them.  Trained  him  myself !  He  was  six  years  with 
me  in  Patagonia." 

"Only  six?"  mumbled  Johnnie  faintly. 

"Maybe  going  on  seven." 

Mr.  Briggs  fumbled  for  a  watch.  "Good  gra- 
cious !"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  reminded  of  something 
very  important.    "Excuse  me!"   And  fled. 

But  as  he  left  he  seemed  to  hear  Mr.  Carter's 
voice  rambling  on  about  llamas  and  "real  men."  A 
determination  to  square  accounts  fairly  burned  in 
Mr.  Briggs'  brain.  But  how?  Johnnie  thought  and 
thought. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MRS.  SLIPAWAY  listened  to  Johnnie  Briggs' 
recital  with  interest,  but  no  evidence  of  ex- 
citement. She  remarked  it  was  rather  strange  he 
should  be  so  well  informed  about  Patagonia,  if  he 
hadn't  been  there,  and  when  Johnnie  somewhat 
heatedly  explained  his  views,  she  shook  her  head. 
Mr.  Briggs  was  too  much  for  rushing  to  conclu- 
sions; Mrs.  Slipaway  did  not  believe  in  too  hasty 
deductions.  At  least,  she  believed  in  seeing  and 
thinking  for  herself.  She  examined  her  theories 
carefully  and  weighed  them.  If  Mr.  Slipaway 
really  and  truly  believed  he  was  Mr.  Carter,  his 
conduct  in  one  or  two  respects  revealed  slight  incon- 
sistencies. His  actual  knowledge  of  South  Amer- 
ican affairs — especially  his  dazzling  familiarity  with 
matters  Patagonian — pointed  to  premeditated  prep- 
arations for  his  new  part.  Of  course,  a  bump  on 
the  head  may  produce  many  strange  results,  but 
how  could  a  bump  bring  in  its  train  a  fund  of  new 
knowledge  concerning  a  place  and  conditions  en- 

105 


106  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

tirely  without  the  ken  of  the  victim  of  the  bump 
before  said  bump  was  inflicted? 

The  question  arose:  Is  a  bump  an  educator? 
Could  you,  for  example,  fall  off  a  house,  in  complete 
ignorance  of  intimate  little  details  about  Liberia, 
and  wake  up  to  find  yourself  a  full-fledged  edition 
of  "Things  Liberian,"  just  because  you  might  imag- 
ine you  had  once  lived  there?  Of  course  people 
used  to  believe  that  a  good  thumping  and  education 
often  went  together,  but  that  was  different.  If 
people  could  get  wise,  and  accumulate  useful  knowl- 
edge, by  getting  a  bump,  a  person  might,  by  that 
same  theory,  acquire  a  college  education  by  falling 
off  a  house.  Thus  Mrs.  Slipaway  argued  with  her- 
self. She  did  not  believe  there  was  any  such  easy 
road  to  learning.  You've  got  to  pick  up  education 
by  more  toilsome  means.  At  the  same  time,  it  was 
not  like  Horatio  studiously  to  acquire  knowledge; 
that  gentleman  had  liked  to  glide  through  life,  un- 
worried  by  the  musty  pages  of  books  and  statistics. 
That  he  could  have  deliberately  and  with  malice 
aforethought,  done  so  now,  seemed  to  the  shrewd 
lady  just  a  bit  out  of  character. 

She  had  not  yet  come  in  contact  with  Saki ;  hence 
there  was  an  important  detail  missing  in  the  pros 
and  cons  of  the  good  lady's  mental  processes.   Mrs. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  107 

Slipaway  felt  there  was  something  wanting — some 
undiscovered  stepping-stone  in  the  logical  trend  of 
her  reasoning — but  she  couldn't  put  her  finger,  or 
her  foot,  on  the  stepping-stone.  However,  she  was 
by  nature  patient,  and  would  proceed  slowly  but 
surely.  Johnnie  was  more  impatient;  he  wanted  to 
get  hold  of  that  nest-egg,  right  off;  if  he  could  have 
had  his  way,  he'd  have  seen  Mrs.  Slipaway  divorced 
to-day,  and  remarried  (to  him)  to-morrow.  Mr, 
Briggs  couldn't  understand  Mrs.  Slipaway's  irri- 
tating calmness  under  these  trying  circumstances; 
he  tried  by  subtle  means  to  arouse  her  to  fiery  ac- 
tion, but  Mrs.  Slipaway  insisted  upon  plodding 
along  in  her  own  sweetly  annoying  manner. 

"You  say  he's  making  a  lot  of  money?"  said  Mrs. 
Slipaway. 

"Yes;  he  took  a  plunge  in  fire-and-brimstone,  or 
something  like  that,"  muttered  Johnnie,  discon- 
tentedly. 

"That  doesn't  sound  like  Horatio.  He  couldn't 
make  money  at  anything.    Just  plug  along!" 

"Well,  you  should  see  Horatio  now,"  said  Mr. 
Briggs,  with  a  slight  sneer.  "Looks  like  Captain 
Kidd,  come  back,  and  sitting  on  his  treasure-chest ! 
Takes  a  plunge  in  sulphur  and  comes  out  as  if  he 
were  asbestos." 


108  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

'T  suppose  he's  forgotten  all  about  the  house-or- 
gan, and  the  little  old  home,  with  the  mottoes  on 
the  wall?"  murmured  Mrs.  Slipaway,  rather  wist- 
fully. 

"The  only  mottoes  he'd  care  for  would  be :  Make 
Every  Prisoner  Walk  the  Plank,  or  Swing  'Em  at 
the  Yard-arm,"  said  Mr.  Briggs,  viciously. 

"Sounds  rather  picturesque,"  observed  Mrs.  Slip- 
away  slowly. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  approve?"  began  the 
horrified  Mr.  Briggs. 

"I  can't  believe  it,  hardly.  Horatio,  looking  like 
a  pirate !" 

"He  sat  there,  smoking  a  cigar  and  looking  as  if 
he  were  saying :  Everybody  be  d — .  You  know !" 

Mrs.  Slipaway  shook  her  head  slowly  once  more. 
"Doesn't  seem  possible  it  could  be  Horatio." 

Mr.  Briggs  gulped.  He  was  almost  on  the  point 
of  confessing  he  had  been  with  Mr.  Slipaway  on 
that  memorable  day  when  Horatio  had  met  with 
his  little  accident ;  but  the  same  motives  that  had  im- 
pelled Johnnie  to  silence  then  now  also  closed  his 
lips.  He  had  wished  to  give  Mr.  Slipaway  all  the 
leeway  he  wished  in  that  self-devastating  role  he 
had  assumed;  if  he  (Johnnie)  had  told  all  he  knew 
in.  the  beginning,  Mrs.  Slipaway  might  simply  have 


THE  NUT  CRACKER'  109 

had  Horatio  detained  somewhere  in  some  nice  Ht- 
tle  sanatorium,  and  after  a  few  days  he  would  have 
been  discharged,  cured.      As  it  was,  look  at  the 
lengths  to  which  Horatio  had  gone,  already;  and 
look  at  what  new  depths  he  would  probably  plunge ! 
Besides,  if  Johnnie  told  all  he  knew  now,  Mrs.  S. 
might  ask  why  he  had  not  revealed  these  impor- 
tant facts  sooner,  and  Mr.  Briggs  did  not  know  just 
how  he  could  answer  that  question,  with  credit  to 
himself.     He  wanted  to  rise,  not  sink,  in  the  esti- 
mation of  the  lady;  he  must  continue  to  seem  to 
help  her  most  disinterestedly,  but  sometimes  he  in- 
wardly anathematized  her  prudence   and  caution. 
Why  couldn't  she  fly  around  more,  or  "off  the  han- 
dle," with  Johnnie  in  the  sedulous  and  platonic  part 
of    friend,    murmuring    "Calm    yourself."      Why 
couldn't  she  be  spirited  and  big  and  emotional — with 
fire  in  her  eyes — ready  to  stride  up  and  down — with 
Johnnie  at  her  elbow,  a  strong  masculine  antidote  to 
her  hysterical  feminine  emotion  ?  Mr.  Briggs  felt  he 
was  being  robbed  of  something.    He  strove  for  ways 
and  means  to  infuse  a  little  more  life  into  the  pro- 
ceedings.    The  trouble  was,  he  wanted  to  be  both 
villain  and  hero,  at  the  same  time,  and  he  didn't  al- 
ways differentiate  exactly  when  he  was  one  and 
when  he  was  the  other.     Probably  he  didn't  know 


110  THE  XUT  CR-\CKER 

himself-  But  then,  even  the  world  itsdf  sometimes 
mixes  tip  csie  \rith  the  odier  and  calb  a  villam  a 
horo,  and  vice  versa. 

'*Yoa  sav  he  s^ve  voa  his  callinsr-card.  with  his 
address  on  it?"  condmied  Mrs,  Slipaway. 

**A~es:  here  it  is."  And  Johnnie  handed  over  the 
bit  of  pasteboard  to  die  ladv. 

■^f  he  was  jwctcnding.  woold  he  have  had  Ae — 
ah — effrontery  to  hand  yon  his  card  and  address  like 
that?"  nmsed  Mrs,  Slipaway. 

"He'd  have  the  nerve  for  anvthing."  answered 
^  r-   rrig^s-    "A  diap  that  ears  sulphur — " 
^        Is  sinfuL"  mumrared  the  lady. 

"V\Tiy.  he  could  jnmp  into — ^you  know — and  in- 
stead of  befng  consamed,  bring  bad^  a  handful  of 
bhie  Mazes,"  ejaculated  Tohrmie  virulently. 

**My  Horatio  was  as  gentle  as  a  lamb," 

Mr.  3r:g5s  coughed  discreetly.  Far  be  it  from 
hfm  tc  re~  r i  :hr  r:rd  lady  of  certs-'-'  delinquencies 
of  Hrri:  : ;  his  most  rmlamh-lfke  :  :  '  ;:  "."ith  a 
"p:.  7    :  ri:t"  :t~2le  typist,  etc 

"He  5  more  like  a  now."  muttered  Jaiasiie. 

"I  '.  i  t^)  that  animal."  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 
"Tgn't  it  a  fTiiuu  beast  ?  '-: :  ks  as  if  z  ir:  of  it  had 
forgot  itself  and  wen:  r.  — :  ir.^.  v.  .  .z  .  e  rest 
of  it  stood  stiD!    I  am  -_r-  llr.  Slipaway  never 


THE  NUT  CR.\CKER  111 

heard  of  the  creature,  or  at  least,  he  wouldn't  know 
enotigh  about  it  to  capitalize  it !  In  wfaidi  case,  how 
can  Mr.  Carter  be  Mr.  Slipaway?  He  would  never 
dream  of  studying  up  aU  those  things  you  told  me 
about,  either.  I  can  imderstand  his  getting  started 
on  something  and  not  knowing  just  how  to  stop — 
kind  of  perpetual  motion — ^just  got  to  keep  on,  as 
Mr.  Carter — but  I  can't  understand  this  elaborate 
education  he  must  have  taken  infinite  pains  to  ac- 
quire. He's  gone  at  it,  just  like  a  lawyer,  building 
up  a  case  that  isn't  so,  and  Horatio  never  had  the 
patience  to  be  a  lawyer." 

**Look  how  he  acted  at  Blinkum,"  put  in  Joimnk: 
**The  pains  he  took  to — " 

"That  was  just  acting.  It  was  fjii: — for  lum! 
But  this — this  suggests  work — lots  of  it  f 

*^\'hole  town's  ringing  with  his  praises,"  grsurb- 
t^d  Johnnie.     "Called  him  a  Cicero."     Disgusted. 

"I  never  knew  it  was  in  Horatio,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Slipaway.  "To  sway  the  multitudes."  Dreamily. 

"Bamboozle  'em,  you  mean.''  said  Johnnie.  "Dis- 
graceful performance,  I  should  call  itT' 

*^ow  I  wonder  what  would  happen  if — ?"  tbe 
good  lady  suddenly  stopped. 

*'^^^lat^■'  said  Johnnie, 

"Nothing  much.  I've  been  thinking — that's  alL" 


112  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

Mr.  Briggs  gazed  at  her  expectantly.     "When  I 
think  how  he's  injured  you — "  he  murmured. 

"Ha,  ha !"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  unexpectedly, 

"Meaning — ?"  asked  Johnnie. 

"Nothing!  Only  you  might  leave  that  card  with 
me,  Johnnie." 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Briggs,  much  mystified. 
"When  I  think  of  what  he  deserves — " 

"Don't  worry,"  said  the  other.  Did  she  mean: 
"Dear  Horatio  will  get  his?" 

Johnnie  had  a  good  deal  of  confidence  in  Mrs. 
Slipaway's  executive  ability,  but  he  felt  hurt  she 
did  not  take  him  right  into  her  confidence.  So  it 
was  that  he  arose  rather  stiffly,  murmuring  some- 
thing about  a  woman  needing  a  staff  to  lean  upon 
and  making  a  great  mistake  in  not  utilizing  said 
moral  prop,  especially  when  it  was  near  at  hand, 
but  Mrs.  Slipaway  seemed  to  miss  the  purport  of 
Mr.  Briggs'  reproachful  intimation,  or  invitation, 
merely  remarking  casually,  did  he  have  to  go,  in  a 
tone  which  left  Johnnie  no  excuse  for  dallying  any 
longer,  at  present. 

So  Mr.  Briggs  left,  promising  to  look  in  again, 
soon ;  after  all,  the  lady  was  no  doubt  right ;  a  little 
prudence — ofT  with  the  old,  before  on  with  the  new ! 
— Yes,  yes;  one  had  to  remember  the  proprieties — 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  113 

only  Mr.  Briggs  himself  experienced  an  ardent  pre- 
cipitancy ;  in  fact,  his  precipitancy  was  so  precipitate, 
as  almost  to  verge  on  the  improper.  Johnnie  re- 
flected that  daily  Mr.  Carter  was  fortifying  his  po- 
sition as  Mr.  Carter,  and  that,  too,  if  something 
didn't  happen,  he  would  stand  on  an  impregnable 
pedestal — an  heroic  and  life-size  figure  of  Pata- 
gonian  Bill.  In  a  measure,  Johnnie  had  himself  as- 
sisted in  the  creation  of  that  picturesque  personality; 
therefore  it  seemed  now  his  duty  to  devise  ways  and 
means  to  push  the  impostor  from  his  pedestal,  and 
cast  him  to  the  dust. 

But  how?  Several  crude  ways  of  bringing  about 
this  result  occurred  to  Mr.  Briggs;  he  dismissed 
them.  He  wished  to  accomplish  his  purpose  with 
finesse  and  art;  to  meet  subtlety  with  subtlety;  to 
match  the  Briggs  brain  against  that  of  Slipaway! 
Bill's  star  was  in  the  ascendent,  but  wait! — Mr. 
Briggs  cogitated  and  pondered  darkly.  He  wanted 
to  scheme  and  devise;  then  he  sighed  and  went  to 
bed.  Maybe  the  solution  would  occur  to  him  later. 
And  when  it  did,  what  a  pitiable  figure  he  would 
make  of  the  llama-trimmer — that  big  sulphur  king 
— that  bombastic  piratical  humbug! — Johnnie 
wouldn't  just  wipe  his  feet  on  him?  Oh,  no!  He 
just  loved  his  old  friend  Horatio! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS.  SLIPAWAY  and  the  Reverend  Nehe- 
miah  Bodkins  descended  from  the  train. 
The  lady  looked  bright  and  cheery  and  the  reverend 
gentleman  seemed  in  a  sprightly  mood.  Mrs.  Slip- 
away  had  donned  a  new  gown  which  fitted  her  nat- 
urally excellent  figure  very  well,  indeed;  she  had 
purchased  a  new  hat;  her  dark  hair  was  brushed 
back  becomingly  from  her  broad  brow,  and  her  feet 
looked  trim  and  neat  in  a  pair  of  high-heeled  shoes. 
Thus  newly  accoutered  and  caparisoned,  Mrs.  Slip- 
away  presented  a  prepossessing  tout  ensemble.  In- 
deed, the  masculine  fancy  that  inclines  more  to  the 
rose  at  its  full  than  to  the  namby-pamby  bud  that 
hides  its  shrinking  beauty  in  maiden  bash  fulness, 
would  have  nodded  mental  approval  of  the  compara- 
tively modish  and  renovated  lady.  Alas,  be  it  said, 
Mrs.  Slipaway  had  fallen  from  grace. 

She  had  encroached  upon  the  sacred  nest-egg. 
She  had  nibbled  at  the  edges  of  that  tender  me- 
morial. What  was  the  use  of  having  money,  she 
told  herself,  if  you  didn't  ever  spend  any  of  it? 

114 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  115 

Was  it  the  voice  of  the  World ;  the  insidious  hissing 
tongue  of  that  serpent,  Vanity,  which  ever  Hes  in 
wait  for  the  opportunity  to  breathe  its  sibilant  lisp- 
ings  into  the  ear  of  all  the  fair  sisters  of  Eve,  of 
the  garden  ?  Not  that  Mrs.  Slipaway  really  plunged 
into  the  mad  vortex  of  fashion  and  extravagance; 
she  merely  was  moved  suddenly,  almost  unaccounta- 
bly (save  on  the  theory  of  the  serpent)  to  "perk 
up  a  bit."  Did  the  reverend  gentleman  approve  of 
these  backslidings  of  his  fair  parishioner?  Did  he 
show  a  shocked  countenance,  or  otherwise  reveal 
evidence  of  inward  perturbation,  as  he  became  cog- 
nizant of  these  reprehensible  and  worldly  innova- 
tions? He  did  not. 

He  might  thunder  on  Sunday  against  the  per- 
nicious tendencies  of  fashion  and  the  frivolous  silli- 
ness of  its  frail  votaries,  but  six  days  of  the  week 
he  did  not  mind  gazing  covertly — not  too  boldly — 
upon  a  woman  properly  caparisoned  for  the  most 
part  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  catching  the  mascu- 
line eye.  Probably  an  analysis  of  Mrs.  Slipaway's 
purpose  might  not  reveal  this  precise  motive ;  indeed, 
an  exact  analysis  of  her  reasons  for  doing  this  and 
that,  at  this  period  of  her  existence  must  be,  neces- 
sarily, rather  vague.  Surely  she  would  not  bestow 
an  extra  touch  or  two  upon  her  toilet  for  any  co 


116  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

quettish  reasons  appertaining  to  Johnnie — or  the 
minister — who,  then? — 

It  is  to  be  hoped  these  fugitive  improvements 
wevQ  not  directed  against  the  picturesque  and  pi- 
ratical Mr.  Carter.  And  yet  Mrs.  SHpaway — chap- 
eroned by  the  minister — for  appearance's  sake — did 
wend  her  way,  at  once — directly — upon  her  arrival 
in  town,  to  the  lair  of  the  devotee  of  sulphur.  She 
found  the  apartment-house  by  the  number  on  the 
bit  of  pasteboard,  and  went  right  up  in  the  elevator 
to  Mr.  Carter's  luxurious  suite.    Saki  received  them. 

"We're  looking  for — for  Mr.  Slipaway,"  said 
the  minister,  who  had  received  his  cue  from  Mrs. 
Slipaway.  As  he  spoke,  he  gazed  with  ministerial 
severity  upon  Saki.  Are  you  converted?  his  gaze 
seemed  to  say.  For  the  moment,  his  mind  drifted 
from  his  present  mission.     Saki  smiled  blandly. 

"Slip—?  Slip—?"  he  said.  "No  Honorable  Slip 
here !  This  home — Honorable  William  Carter." 

"A  rose  as  sweet — "  began  Mrs.  Slipaway  and 
paused.  "Carter?"  she  said.  "That's  strange!  I 
understood  Mr.  Slipaway  occupied  this  suite." 

Saki  shook  his  head;  also,  he  eyed  his  visitors 
suspiciously.  "This  happy  home,  Honorable  Will- 
iam Carter,"  he  reaffirmed. 

"Perhaps  that's  only  his  nom  de  plume,"   said 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  117 

Mrs.  Slipaway  sweetly.  "But  I  should  like  to  see 
this— ah !— Mr.  Carter!" 

"Yes;  we'd  like  to  see  him,"  said  the  minister. 
"In  fact  we  have  important  business  with  him." 

"Very,"  observed  the  lady,  compressing  her  lips. 

"Honorable  Master  not  home,"  said  Saki. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Hot  Place,"  said  Saki  a  bit  sullenly. 

"Hot  Place?"  said  the  minister,  looking  slightly 
shocked. 

"Johnnie  said  he  was  a  regular  sulphur  king," 
put  in  Mrs.  Slipaway  dreamily. 

"Honorable  Master  go  out  when  night  was 
young,"  said  Saki  doggedly.  "He  go  to  damn'  Hot 
Place." 

"Oh !"  said  the  minister. 

"Can  he  mean — Turkish  bath?"  murmured  Mrs. 
Slipaway. 

Saki  nodded — still  sullenly.  He  didn't  like  these 
callers;  some  subtle  Oriental  instinct  told  him  their 
visit  forebode  trouble  to  his  master,  and  with  Saki, 
loyalty  was  a  religion.  He  was  made  of  that  stuff 
the  forty  Romans  were  composed  of.  "Honorable 
Master  go  out  when  night  was  young,"  he  repeated. 
"He  have  infant-paralysis." 

"Paralysis?"  repeated  the  callers,  bewildered. 


118  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

Saki  resentfully  reiterated  the  information. 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  in  a  deep 
voice,  "when  the  slaves  of  the  wine-cup  have  im- 
bibed not  wisely,  but  too  well,  they  are  spoken  of  as 
being  'paralyzed.'  Can  this  be  the  kind  of  paralysis 
Mr.  Carter  was  suffering  from,  when  he  departed 
for  the  Turkish  bath?" 

Saki  again  nodded. 

"He  may  be  expected  to  return  shortly?"  said  the 
minister,  concealing  his  disapproval  as  best  he 
might. 

"Maybe,"  said  Saki. 

"We  will  wait,"  said  the  lady. 

Saki  frowned.  He  seemed  about  to  protest  when 
the  lady  walked  in,  followed  by  her  chaperon. 

"Ah,  a  luxurious  apartment!"  observed  the  lat- 
ter, gazing  around  a  lavishly  furnished  sitting- 
room. 

"Full  of  bric-a-brac!"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway, 
eying  ominously  sundry  Venuses,  Hebes  and  Aph- 
rodites, disporting  themselves  in  bronze  after  the 
elegant  fashion  of  those  attractive  ladies  of  antiq- 
uity. 

"Mr.  Carter  appears  to  be  a  connoisseur,"  ob- 
served the  chaperon. 

"He  does,'^  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  119 

"Have  we  been  wise  in  coming?"  said  the  other, 
gazing  dubiously  at  a  table,  whereon  reclined  an 
empty  bottle. 

"You  mean,  in  the  event  of  Mr.  Carter's  not  prov- 
ing to  be — ?" 

"Quite  so." 

Mrs.  Slipaway  gazed  at  Saki.  "You  been  work- 
ing for  Mr.  Carter  about  a  month,  or  so?"  she  said. 
Now  she  was  going  to  get  at  the  truth. 

Saki  opened  his  innocent  and  guileless  eyes.  "Six 
— most  seven  years,"  he  observed.  "Me  work  for 
Mr.  Carter  in  Patagonia.  Mr.  Carter,  honorable 
merchant — he  have  big  ranch — ten — twenty  thou- 
sand llamas — " 

"What  is  a  llama?" 

Saki  described  it. 

"What  are  its  habits?" 

Saki  gave  a  long  dissertation  of  the  animal  in 
question.  In  fact  he  was  replete  with  intricate  and 
fascinating  details.  Mrs.  Slipaway  listened  with  a 
queer  look. 

"What  is  the  principal  city  of  Patagonia?"  the 
lady  next  inquired. 

Saki  rattled  off  about  three  pages  of  encyclo- 
pedia. The  lady  interrupted  him  just  when  he  was 
really  getting  under  way. 


120  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"What  is  the  principal  cathedral  of  the  town?" 

Saki  answered  correctly.  He  then  entered  into 
a  history  of  the  church  in  that  far-away  land,  and 
as  a  theological  authority,  he  shone  as  brightly  as 
he  did  as  a  student  of  natural  history. 

"What  are  the  social  conditions  of  the  country?" 
As  an  expert  observer  of  sociology,  Saki  was  a 
prize-winner.  He  had  all  the  vices  and  virtues  and 
idiosyncrasies  of  the  different  classes  at  his  tongue's 
end.    He  dribbled  on  and  on. 

"That  will  do,"  said  the  lady.  "I  have  satisfied 
myself."    Tranquilly. 

"Of  what?"  asked  the  bewildered  reverend  gen- 
tleman. 

"I  have  found  the  missing  link!" 

"Where?" 

"There !"    Pointing  to  Saki. 

"Still  I  do  not  gather  your  meaning." 

"I  knew  Horatio  never  could  study  up  all  those 
things  by  himself.    There  stands  the  master-brain." 

"That  little  imp!" 

At  that  moment  Mr.  William  Carter  walked  in. 

Did  he  start  slightly?  H  so,  he  almost  immedi- 
ately recovered  his  self-possession.  His  position 
was  a  trying  one — even  for  one  of  Bill  Carter's  su- 
perb assurance  and  aplomb.  Would  he  have  dropped 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  121 

some  of  that  assurance  if  Mrs.  Slipaway  had  come 
there  alone — if  he  had  not  felt  on  him  the  fixed  and 
concentrated  gazes  of  the  reverend  gentleman  and 
Saki  ?  The  truth  is  Mr.  William  Carter  might  have 
lost  a  little  of  his  lofty  insouciance  if  he  had  hap- 
pened in  upon  the  good  lady,  all  by  herself — for 
had  he  not,  as  already  intimated,  in  the  past  enter- 
tained for  her  a  tremendous  respect?  And  had  it 
not  been  force  of  circumstances — a  combination  of 
untoward  events — that  had  driven  him  from  his  fire- 
side out  into  the  buccaneering  world?  Had  it  not 
been  an  unkind  fate  rather  than  natural  inclination 
that  had  metamorphosed  him  into  a  sulphur  king, 
llama  trimmer,  and  what  not?  Who,  therefor, 
shall  say  what  might  not  have  happened  if  he  had 
been  precipitated  into  the  solitary  presence  of  the 
renovated  Mrs.  Slipaway,  instead  of  thus  encoun- 
tering that  lady  fairly  and  face-to-face,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  witnesses?  Even  as  it  was,  it  seemed  that 
the  piratical  glance  of  Bill  did  soften  slightly  as  it 
traveled  over  the  form  of  his  fair  and  unexpected 
visitor.    Then  he  bowed  politely. 

"To  what  am  I  indebted — ?"  he  murmured  with 
true  South  American  courtesy. 

"A  little  mistake— I  guess  that's  all,"  Mrs.  Slip- 
away murmured  back  in  a  hypnotized  tone. 

"Saki,  did  you  not  offer  the  senora  a  glass  of 


122  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

Patagonian  wine?"  said  Bill,  with  a  frown.  "I 
fear,  senora,  my  boy's  manners  have  not  improved 
since  we  left  Patagonia." 

"Yes ;  the  States  do  have  a  demoralizing  effect," 
returned  Mrs.  Slipaway,  in  that  same  hypnotized 
tone. 

"We  do  not  drink  wine,"  said  the  reverend  gentle- 
man quickly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  unex- 
pectedly, "when  it's  from  South  America." 

Bill  made  a  gesture  and  Saki  returned  with  the 
wine.  Mrs.  Slipaway  examined  the  label.  It  might 
have  come  from  South  America. 

"An  excellent  wine,  I  assure  you,  seiiora,"  said 
Bill,  and  at  the  "seiiora"  Mrs.  Slipaway  looked  hyp- 
notized once  more.  Bill  spoke  with  such  real  Span- 
ish courtesy;  he  quite  made  Mrs.  Slipaway  think  of 
a  cahallero  or  a  contrahandista,  or  one  of  those  gay 
gallant  matadors  that  jump  over  bulls'  horns  one 
moment  and  salute  the  applauding  multitude  the 
next.  Indeed,  just  for  the  moment,  Mrs.  Slipaway 
experienced  a  strange,  irrational  and  entirely  ludi- 
crous and  bizarre  feeling  of  shyness  or  modesty 
in  the  presence  of  the  complicated  personality  of 
her  host.  Confused,  she  touched  her  lips  to  the 
glass;  of  course,  she  had  only  wanted  to  see  the 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  123 

label.  And  as  the  enormity  of  her  conduct  stole 
over  her  she  felt  as  if  she,  too,  might  almost  be 
courting  that  "infant-paralysis"  whereof  Saki  had 
spoken. 

"Just  where  did  we  get  this  wine,  Saki?"  asked 
Bill. 

Saki  mentioned  the  locality,  and  gave  a  history  of 
the  wine  industry  of  the  place;  where  the  grapes 
grew;  how  many  liters  of  wine  they  made;  how 
many  were  consumed  locally;  how  many  were  ex- 
ported. 

"No  wonder  you  don't  want  to  part  with  him," 
said  Mrs.  Slipaway.     "After  all  these  years !" 

"Couldn't  get  on  without.  Why,  I  wouldn't  know 
how  many  llamas  I  own  if  Saki  wasn't  there  to  count 
them." 

"He  seems  to  have  a  marvelous  memory." 

"Marvelous,"  said  Bill  solemnly. 

"And  now,"  said  the  lady,  rising,  "since  I  didn't 
find  him  I  came  for  I  think  I'll  be  going." 

"Proud  to  have  made  your  acquaintance,"  said 
the  other.    "May  I  inquire  your  name?" 

"Mrs.  Slipaway." 

"SHpaway?  Ah,  yes."  Did  his  tone  falter  just 
a  bit?  The  lady  gazed  at  him  with  weird  fascina- 
tion. 


124  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"You  have  never  heard  of  it — I  dare  say?" 

"But  I  have."  Suddenly.  "Why,  I  used  to  know 
an  Horatio  Slipaway." 

"Did  you?"  said  the  lady. 

"Same  little  village  where  I  came  from." 

"Indeed?" 

"Fine  chap,  too!"     Enthusiastically. 

"You  think  so." 

"I  do." 

"You  would,"  Mrs.  Slipaway  managed  to  mur- 
mur. 

"So  it  was  as  a  friend  of  Horatio  you  called?" 

"As  a  friend !" 

"It  all  comes  back  to  me  now." 

"Does  it?" 

"Why,  we  ate  from  the  same  apple." 

"How  touching!" 

"Swam  in  the  same  old  swimming-hole!" 

"Tender  recollections  of  youth!"  breathed  the 
lady. 

"Why,  Horatio  saved  my  life,"  said  Bill. 

"How  brave !" 

"Courage  of  a  lion!"  said  Bill  enthusiastically. 
"I  knew  there  was  something  missing  when  I  went 
back  to  the  old  town." 

"What  was  it?" 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  125 

"Horatio." 

"You  expected  to  see  him  there?"  Mrs.  Slipaway 
was  again  speaking  like  a  person  in  a  mesmeric 
trance. 

Bill  did  not  answer  directly.  "You  knew  my  dear 
old  mnigo,  Horatio,  sefiora?"  he  inquired  sedu- 
lously. 

"Slightly,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  with  an  accent. 
"Only  slightly !" 

"And  where  is  he  now?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  add  to  your  information  on 
that  point." 

"No?"  said  Bill. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  and  arose,  about  to 
depart,  when  the  door-bell  rang. 

Saki  answered  the  summons. 

"Does  Mr.  Slipaway  live  here?"  said  a  voice  with- 
out. 

"No;  this  happy  home  of  Honorable  William — " 
began  Saki,  when  a  lady  pushed  right  by  him  and 
came  in. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  lady  was  tall;  and  there  were  several 
sharp  angles  in  her  figure,  but  she  moved  with 
a  slidey,  glidey  undulation  that  lent  a  certain  fasci- 
nation to  the  angles.  One  felt  instinctively  she  was 
full  of  temperament;  indeed,  she  might  have  stepped 
out  of  the  canvas  of  one  of  those  impressionists  who 
seek  character  in  the  ultra,  rather  than  in  the  clas- 
sical, or  conventional,  old-fashioned  ideas  of 
beauty,  handed  down  from  the  academic  epoch  of 
the  Parthenon.  She  was  not  a  Diana,  and  she 
gloried  in  the  fact.  Every  angle  was  a  protest 
against  the  sweet,  soft  roundness  characterizing  the 
mythological  conception  of  feminine  loveliness.  In 
fact,  she  was  up-to-date.  Not  that  she  was  "scraw- 
ney" ;  oh,  no !  Just  temperamentally  thin !  She  was 
pale — "passion-pale" ;  also  there  was  a  freckle  or 
two  on  her  nose ;  those  freckles  were  rather  interest- 
ing— little  flecks  against  a  field  of  white.  Her  eyes 
held  an  unsatisfied  expression — that  might  have 
been  crudely  interpreted — by  the  unsophisticated 
Horatio — as  indicative  of  "hunger."    Her  lips  were 

126 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  127 

like  a  reddish  splash ;  a  sentimental  gentleman  might 
find  pleasure  in  feeding  them  bon-bons,  or  liquid 
refreshment  that  sparkles.  She  was  dressed  fairly 
well,  and  carried  herself  like  a  lady  who  had  a 
grudge  against  the  world — or  some  one  in  it! 

Did  Bill  quail  at  the  sight  of  this  vision?  Not 
at  all!  After  the  first  shock  of  her  entrance,  his 
eyes  expressed  a  questioning,  courteous  pleasure. 
Mrs.  Slipaway  examined  the  newcomer,  with  cold 
appraising  calculation.  Perhaps  she  divined  at  once 
who  she  was ;  also,  a  quick  suspicion  may  have  shot 
through  her  brain;  if  so,  it  was  quickly  dispelled 
by  Mr.  William  Carter's  manner.  The  latter  still 
gazed  upon  the  fair  visitor  as  if  she  was  a  stranger 
— not  an  unwelcome  one — nor  a  welcome  one — 
just  a  stranger!    He  smiled  upon  her. 

"A  chair  for  the  senorita,  Saki,"  he  observed, 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"Seiiorita?"  ejaculated  the  visitor,  and  the 
freckles  quivered  on  her  nose.  Bill  gazed  at  them 
interestedly. 

"Caraccas!"  muttered  Saki,  as  protesting  against 
the  visitor's  unladylike  manner  of  thus  forcing  her 
way  in. 

Whereupon  Patagonian  Bill  wheeled  upon  him, 
quickly,  and  said  something  sharply  and  disapprov- 


128  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

ingly,  in  Spanish.  It  sounded  like  "Montevideo" — ' 
or  some  other  capital — cut  up  into  syllables,  with 
the  accent  in  the  wrong  place,  but  Saki  seemed  to 
understand,  for  he  bowed  very  deeply,  and  humbly 
enough  placed  the  chair  for  the  lady. 

"You  see,"  explained  Bill,  "my  boy  has  not  yet 
become  accustomed  to  the  ways  of  this  fair  and  free 
republic.  We  call  them  republics  where  I  come 
from — South  America — but  there's  no  freedom  for 
women  there.  Really" — with  a  bold,  dashing  smile 
— "they  are  dynasties  as  far  as  your  sex  is  con- 
cerned"— beaming  upon  the  quivering,  befreckled 
nose — "cruel  dynasties !  Cruel  dynasties !  A  trav- 
esty upon  freedom,  I  might  say.  Would  a  charm- 
ing young  woman  dare,  however  innocently,  enter 
a  gentleman's  rooms  in  one  of  those  benighted  re- 
publics, unless  accompanied  by  a  duenna?  She 
would  not!  But  here — ah  !" — expansively — "it  is 
different.  Here  woman  is  free ;  she  goes  where  she 
pleases,  does  what  she  pleases,  and  says  what  she 
pleases.  No  speck  of  blame  shall  smirch  her  fair 
fame.  You  come;  you  go;  you  depart;  your  rep- 
utation is  safe.    The  good  Dios  be  praised." 

Bill  spoke  with  fervor ;  he  clasped  his  hands.  Saki 
beamed  like  a  cherub ;  obviously,  his  master's  words 
seemed  inspired  to  him.  Mrs.  Slipaway  listened  with 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  129 

polite  attention;  the  minister,  with  his  head  cocked 
sidewise  Hke  a  bird  that  wasn't  quite  sure  what 
kind  of  a  branch  he  was  perched  on.  Upon  the  face 
of  the  typist  lady — for  it  was  she,  of  course — a  flut- 
ter of  bewilderment  came  and  lingered;  it  seemed  to 
ripple  the  "pale-passionate"  composure, 

Mr.  Carter  threw  out  his  arms.  "Yes;  I  was 
glad  to  get  back — after  twenty  years  of  wandering!" 

"You  see,  Mr.  Carter's  a  great  traveler,"  observed 
Mrs.  Slipaway,  tranquilly  to  the  other  lady. 

The  other  lady  did  not  answer.  She,  too,  seemed 
as  if  she  were  momentarily  hypnotized. 

"Mr.  Carter  has  a  ranch  and  he  raises  llamas," 
went  on  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "Sometimes  he  trims  them 
for  their  wool.  And  when  he  isn't  trimming  wool, 
he's  raising  blue-blazes  out  of  sulphur." 

Still  the  other  lady  sat  as  if  unable  to  move.  Pat- 
agonian  Bill's  eyes  gleamed  now  like  those  of  a  big 
cobra. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Carter  is  a  friend  of  a — well,  an 
acquaintance  of  mine,"  went  on  Mrs.  Slipaway, 
softly,  sibilantly.  "Mr.  Carter  is  very  well-known 
in  the  little  village  of  Blinkum." 

"You  heard  about  the  home-coming  I  had  there  ?" 
cried  Bill.    "Whole  town  turned  out  to  greet  me !" 

The  eyelashes  of  the  impressionistic  lady  moved 


130  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

up  and  down,  like  the  wings  of  an  agitated  moth. 
"Whole  town?"  she  stammered. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  absorbed  her  appraisingly.  Did 
she  place  her  in  the  class  of  "dangerous"  women? 
What  were  Mrs.  Slipaway's  own  thoughts  at  that 
moment?  Mrs.  Slipaway  could  probably  not  have 
analyzed  them  herself — they  were  so  chaotic !  Only 
she  knew  she  did  not  like  the  impressionistic  lady ; 
that  at  least  was  a  dominant  emotion.  Her  finger- 
nails were  so  long  and  so  beautifully  manicured  and 
sharp.     They  looked  like  very  "scratchy"  nails. 

"Whole  town !"  repeated  Bill,  with  enthusiasm. 
"That  was  worth  coming  back  for,  after  being  gone 
twenty  years !  And  they  made  me  make  a  speech. 
Some  little  speech!  And  every  one  knew  me  at 
once,  and  clapped  me  on  the  back — good  old  Bill 
Carter—" 

The  typist  lady  seemed  to  relax  a  little  in  her 
chair;  her  attitude  was  rather  limp;  that  mental 
tension  which  had  showed  itself  in  the  expression 
of  her  face,  on  her  entrance,  seemed  now  to  have 
left  her.  One  might  have  labeled  her  now :  "Pas- 
siveness,"  or  "A  Restful  Moment  After  a  Turbu- 
lent Day."  She  looked  rather  Whistlery  at  this 
particularly  artistic,  felicitous  moment.  The  cobra- 
glance  of  Bill  took  in  the  picture  she  made  with  gen- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  131 

tie  approval;  it  seemed  to  say,  how  varied  are  the 
charms  and  moods  of  woman — lovely  woman!  In 
action,  she  fills  our  minds  with  admiration;  qui- 
escent, she  steals  over  our  senses  with  tender,  in- 
sidious force. 

He  did  not  ask  his  fair  visitor  her  mission.  In 
her  case  he  showed  himself  a  South  American. 
Curiosity — idle  curiosity — ah,  that  is  a  "Yankee" 
trait,  and  Bill,  though  a  "Yankee"  by  birth,  had  pre- 
sumably acquired  true  Spanish  circumlocution  and 
indirectness  in  his  verbal  dealings  with  people — 
especially  the  fair  sex.  His  manner  now  implied  it 
was  sufficient  she  had  called;  the  pleasure  of  her 
company  was  enough  without  the  immediate  why 
and  wherefore  of  her  coming.  Maybe,  the  lady 
had  seen  him  somewhere  and  been  attracted  by 
him,  Mr.  Carter's  attitude  might  have  implied; 
she  had  shyly,  but  irresistibly,  been  drawn  to  his 
retreat;  naturally  she  might  feel  a  bit  embarrassed 
at  first;  it  was  his  task  to  make  her  feel  at  home. 
He  smiled  reassuringly. 

"Will  you  not  partake  of  my  poor  hospitality, 
seiiorita?"  he  asked  politely.  "You  see,  you  are 
properly  chaperoned." 

"Yes;  isn't  it  nice?"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway,  in 
faint,   far-away  tones. 


132  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

A  small  bunch  of  forget-me-nots  on  the  typist's 
dress  moved  slightly. 

"Some  still  wine?"  urged  Mr.  Carter. 

*'Patagonian,"  murmured  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"More  wine !"  said  the  minister  disapprovingly. 

The  pale,  passionate  face  expressed  a  faint,  me- 
chanical negative. 

"How  about  a  glass  of  champagne?"  said  Mr. 
Carter  blithely. 

"Honorable  Pop-pop?"  breathed  Saki  expect- 
antly. 

"Gaily  effervescing?"  said  Mr.  Carter. 

"Tickle-drops,"  murmured  Saki,  as  anxious  to 
be  of  service. 

"Heathen!"  said  the  minister,  looking  at  Saki. 

"I  have  a  rather  good  vintage  champagne,"  went 
on  Mr.  Carter  ingratiatingly,  "with  which  we  might 
honor  this  occasion.  It  is  an  old  wine.  Saki  calls 
it  'Honorable  Grand  Pop-pop,'  indeed,  in  conse- 
quence of  its  antiquity.  But  though  ancient,  in  a 
sense,  it  is  still  quite  lively — " 

Saki  squirmed.  Apparently  he  was  trying  to  ex- 
press in  pantomime  those  vinous  qualities  which  his 
master  professed  to  find  in  the  old  but  far  from  de- 
crepit "Grand  Pop-pops."  Also,  his  wriggles 
seemed  to  imply  the  effect  which  the  "Grand  Pop- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  133 

pops"  might  produce  upon  those  who  partook  of  its 
ingratiating  "tickle-drops." 

"Little  monster!"  murmured  the  minister,  com- 
ing to  life  once  more,  and  eying  Saki  with  open 
disapproval. 

"I  gotta  go,"  said  the  typist  suddenly. 

"If  the  fair  seiiorita  must — ?"  The  Honorable 
William  Carter  spread  out  his  hands. 

"Yes;  I  gotta  go,"  she  repeated,  as  coming  out  of 
a  dream. 

Again  Mr.  Carter  made  an  eloquent  gesture  that 
seemed  to  say :   "I  am  desolated" — or  to  that  effect. 

The  iady  strode  toward  the  door ;  her  movements 
were  less  glidey  and  slidey.  Mr.  Carter  politely 
held  open  the  door;  she  went  out,  but  before  she 
departed  she  gave  him  one  swift  look;  then,  sud- 
denly her  shoulders  straightened  and  she  walked 
quickly  away. 

"You  forgot  to  introduce  me  to  the  lady,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Slipaway.  "What  did  you  say  was  her 
name?" 

But  Mr.  Carter  was  not  to  be  caught.  "I  believe 
I  forgot  to  ask  myself,"  he  said  innocently. 

Then  Mrs.  Slipaway  went.  And  the  minister 
thought  it  was  quite  time.  That  good  gentlerrati 
had  entirely  lost  track  of  what  it  was  all  about. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  HONORABLE  BILL  had  reason  to  feel 
he  had  emerged  from  the  dual  encounter  with 
due  credit  to  himself.  It  is  possible  that,  had  he 
paused  for  profound  reflection,  he  might  not  have 
experienced  unadulterated  satisfaction  at  the  out- 
come of  his  first  interview,  and  he  might  even,  in 
the  wee  sma'  hours,  have  felt  a  twinge  or  two  of 
conscience.  But  in  the  case  of  the  second 
interview,  his  after  emotions  were  of  a  pleasing, 
possibly  jubilant  nature.  Just  how  the  impression- 
istic manipulator  of  the  typewriter  had  come  to 
discover  his  whereabouts  Bill  did  not  know  or  care ; 
sufficient  he  had  dealt  with  her  as  she  very  well 
deserved.  He  now  saw  her  only  in  the  light  of  a 
viper  who  would  nip  the  hand  that  had  fed  her — at 
Child's.  His  perfectly  innocent  intentions  had  been 
totally  and  outrageously  abused,  and  a  big  crop  of 
ingratitude  was  the  only  harvest  she  had  planned 
for  him  in  return  for  sundry  thirty-cent  vegetarian 
luncheons  and  a  few  other  purely  Platonic  atten- 
tions. Hereafter  any  poor  girl  who  looked  hungry 
could  die  of  starvation,  for  all  of  Horatio. 

134 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  135 

She  had  come  Hke  a  serpent;  she  had  departed 
like  a  limp  rag.   The  reincarnation  of  Bill  chuckled. 

"I  think  I'll  have  to  raise  your  salary,  Saki,"  he 
observed. 

Saki  did  not  object. 

"Or  I  could  make  you  a  partner  in  the  llama- 
trimming  business,"  went  on  "Bill." 

Saki  murmured  something  about  preferring  the 
"honorable  raise,"  and  the  other,  after  promptly 
promising  the  same,  departed,  on  "business"  bent. 
Thus  several  days  passed  and  the  Honorable  Bill 
continued  to  prosper;  to  Saki's  salary  as  valet,  etc., 
he  added  another  stipend.  The  precise  amount  of 
this  additional  salary  was  determined  upon  by  a 
long  and  honorable  debate,  as  Saki  was  scrupulously 
particular  in  monetary  matters  and  would  receive 
only  such  an  amount  as  the  ethics  of  the  situation 
demanded.     For  extra  services  as — what? 

"Tutor,"  said  Bill.  "Private  professor  to  the  sul- 
phur king!    Kings  have  private  tutors,  don't  they?" 

"Professor  of  what?"  asked  Saki  gravely.  He 
wanted  no  sinecure ;  only  just  what  he  earned. 

"Oh,  professor  of  any  old  thing!  Say — llama- 
anthropology  !" 

Saki  thought  that  sounded  dignified  enough  and 
looked  pleased. 


136  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Or  professor  of  South  American  sociology — " 

"And  criminology — "  from  Saki. 

"And  criminology,  with  special  reference  to  Pata- 
gonia." 

They  wrestled  with  that  for  a  while;  Saki  liked 
this  title,  which,  as  he  expressed  it,  had  an  honor- 
able prolongation;  but  then,  professor  of  llama-an- 
thropology had  a  poignant  crispness  that  was  also 
appealing — so  professor  of  llama-anthropology  Saki 
became.  There  was  a  certain  mystery  about  "an- 
thropology," in  reference  to  "llamas,"  that  carried 
its  own  especial  recommendation;  it  might  mean 
anything.  From  that  time  on,  when  they  were  alone 
together,  "Bill"  called  Saki  "professor,"  and  Saki 
began  reading  up  on  "anthropology,"  which  he  dis- 
covered was  a  very  exhaustive  subject,  and  most 
illusive  in  its  application  to  "llamas."  Indeed,  Saki 
could  never  quite  discover  the  connection,  but  he 
kept  on  reading,  investigating  and  hoping;  perse- 
verence  was  his  forte. 

It  was  about  this  time  Johnnie  Briggs  took  a  hand 
in  the  attempted  unmasking  of  Horatio.  Mr.  Briggs 
had  gleaned  from  Mrs.  Slipaway  a  fragmentary  re- 
port of  what  had  happened  on  the  occasion  of  that 
good  lady's  visit  to  the  apartments  of  "Patagonian 
Bill,"  and  Johnnie  had  almost  frothed  at  the  mouth 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  137 

with  indignation  at  her  words,  although  Mrs.  SHp- 
away  had  seemed  very  cahn  and  thoughtful,  while 
thus  permitting  Johnnie  partially  to  glimpse  the  sit- 
uation. 

"Monstrous!"  groaned  Johnnie.  "I  don't  believe 
another  man  lives  who  could  have  done  that — to 
you!" 

Mrs.  Slipaway  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"I  never  knew  he  had  the  moral  courage,"  she 
breathed. 

"Moral !"  snorted  Mr.  Briggs. 

"Or  genius!"  sighed  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

Johnnie  gazed  at  her  with  amazement  and  dis- 
approval. 

"I  should  find  another  word,"  he  snapped. 

"The  folks  at  Blinkum  said  he  swayed  them  with 
his  genius,"  she  observed. 

"Blinkum!"  said  Johnnie  sneeringly.  "Little  old 
one-horse — " 

"They  said  people  just  listened  and  were  carried 

away — " 

"Been  drinking,  probably,"  said  Mr.  Briggs  in  a 

disagreeable  tone. 

"I  can  understand  it,"  she  observed. 
"Oh,  you  can !"  Johnnie  stared. 
"He  just  carried  her  away!" 


"^"FrTT^rinyiwaaKiQeoiwi^aiiaHgaiffiigirf 


138  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Who?" 

"The  breach  of  promise  woman!" 

"Poor  girl!"  breathed  Johnnie  fervently. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know's  I'm  feeling  specially  sorry 
for  her,"  remarked  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Victim  of  man's  brutal — "  breathed  Mr.  Briggs, 
as  if  not  hearing  the  good  lady's  last  words. 

"She  looked  as  if  she  could  take  care  of  herself 
— and  some  other  people,  too,"  observed  Mrs.  Slip- 
away. 

"Good  heavens!"  remarked  the  horrified  Mr. 
Briggs.    "You're  not  defending  him — " 

"The  way  he  sent  her  about  her  business  was 
masterly,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  in  a  reminiscent  tone. 
"My!  he  was  so  polite  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his 
mouth.  And  the  words  she  had  come  to  speak  she 
couldn't  say.  I  tell  you,  Johnnie,  you  would  have 
been  proud  of  him  at  that  moment." 

Johnnie  looked  and  looked  at  her.  What  man 
knows  woman?  "Proud  of  him!"  he  managed  to 
ejaculate.  "The  man  that  deserted  you — his  happy 
home — its  attendant  treasures — ^  Mr.  Briggs  was 
thinking  of  the  nest-egg  once  more.  "When  I  think 
of  a  man  who  could  do  that,  no  words  in  the  dic- 
tionary can  be  found  to  express  what  I  would  say 
of  such  a  man.   And  when  I  sit  here  and  listen  to 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  139 

you — you" — Mr  Briggs'  voice  shook — "using  that 
adjective — that  commendatory  adjective — in  con- 
nection with  one  who  has  sunk — sunk — to  depths 
no  depths  can  reach — when,  I  say,  I  Hsten  to  you 
— you,  a  paragon  of  your  kind — neglected — aban- 
doned— left  to  weep  in  solitude! — " 

"Don't  know  as  I've  shed  any  tears,  Johnnie," 
she  observed  tranquilly. 

"That's  your  fortitude,"  breathed  Johnnie.  "Your 
Roman  nature!  Your  tears  are  not  visible;  they 
are  inward.  Your  pain  is  inward ;  you  are  like  the 
Spartan  lad  who  had  the  fox  beneath  his  wes'-coat 
and  who  smiled  and  smiled  through  all  his  pain. 
But  I  know  what  you  are  suffering — you  can't  de- 
ceive me.  You  can't  deceive  one  who  understands 
and  appreciates  you  as  well  as  I  do."  As  he  spoke 
Johnnie  tapped  his  chest. 

"No?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  softly. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Briggs  firmly.  "Why,  I  know 
you  better  than  you  do  yourself." 

"Do  you?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"I  do,"  said  Johnnie.  "It  is  time  something 
should  be  done — something  very  emphatic!" 

"If  you  only  would,  Mr.  Briggs,"  said  Mrs.  Slip- 
away, with  suspicious  meekness. 

"I  will.   I  will  take  it  upon  myself  as  a — friend. 


MHS 


140  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

There  is  a  weakness  somewhere;  I  will  find  it;  I 
will  pierce  it.  I  will  shatter  his  abominable  alibis 
— his  village  homecoming  as  Bill  Carter ! — Blinkum ! 
Patagonia!  Huh!  And  when  he  is  revealed  in  all 
his  true  colors — his  hideous  colors — then — then — " 
Johnnie  paused. 

"Then?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  expectantly. 

Johnnie  muttered  something  about  legal  proceed- 
ings, and — and — later —  At  this  point  Mrs.  Slip- 
away  shyly  changed  the  conversation.  But  she 
wished  Johnnie  good  luck  when  he  departed.  Mr. 
Briggs  hinted  of  some  plan  he  had  in  mind,  but 
he  did  not  say  what  it  was,  and  Mrs.  Slipaway  did 
not  press  her  inquiries  in  the  matter.  Indeed,  that 
lady  exhibited  almost  superhuman  patience  and 
self-control  at  this  stage  of  her  decidedly  vi- 
vacious matrimonial  adventure  with  Horatio.  She 
had  thought  when  she  had  married  that  gentle- 
man that  she  could  twist  him  around  her  fin- 
ger— and  here  she  was,  not  knowing  where  she 
was.  The  would-be  twister  had  become  the  twistee. 
It  was  quite  a  new  experience  and  certainly 
kept  her  guessing.  It  was  better  than  going  to  a 
church  sociable  and  having  charades  and  riddles. 
Anyhow,  Mr.  Carter  had  the  most  charming  man- 
ners— ^manners  so  lofty  and  distinguished  they  had 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  141 

engendered  in  her  a  funny  little  sensation  bordering 
on  bash  fulness.  She  would  never  have  believed 
it;  it  was  as  if  she  had  made  a  great  voyage  of 
discovery;  fancy  her  never  having  dreamed  of  those 
polished  and  masterful  qualities  in  Horatio!  Of 
course,  she  would  make  him  suffer  and  repent  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes  yet,  because  this  was  due  him, 
and  you  can't  dodge  the  retributory  climax  that 
comes  with  wrong-doing.  Yes ;  Horatio  would  have 
to  sit  down  and  throw  dust  in  his  hair,  the  way  Job 
did;  but  all  the  same,  meanwhile,  Mrs.  Slipaway 
permitted  a  faint  thrill  of  approval  to  permeate  the 
innermost  recesses  of  her  being  at  the  recollection 
of  the  superb  manner  in  which  he  had  received  and 
dismissed  the  "passion-pale"  lady  in  the  case. 

Mr.  Briggs'  pernicious  activities  in  the  affair  were 
soon  once  more  made  manifest  to  the  reincarnation 
of  Bill,  The  latter  gentleman  had  returned  one  aft- 
ernoon from  his  arduous  business  activities  in  the 
little  blackboard  shop  which  was  an  adjunct  of  the 
Busiest  Little  Street,  when  he  noted  the  face  of  his 
faithful  attendant  wore  a  sad  and  melancholy  look. 
He  manipulated  the  Martini  mournfully;  he  pro- 
duced the  comfortable  fireside  slippers  as  if  that 
duty  had  now  become  but  a  mechanical  detail  of  the 


fflnjBtMi^Mtoj 


142  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

daily  routine;  the  twinkling  light  in  his  eyes  had 
become  extinguished ;  upon  his  face  regret  had  'laid 
its  darkening  shadow. 

"Well,  Professor,"  said  "Bill"  with  customary 
blitheness.  "Anything  new?  Anything  stirring? 
Have  you  traced  that  word  yet,  back  to  its  furthest 
derivation,  and  dug  its  deepest  roots  out  of  the  re- 
motest antiquity?" 

Of  course,  he  was  referring  to  "anthropology," 
and  his  tone  was  calculated  to  bring  an  answering 
smile  to  the  engaging  features  of  the  faithful  Saki; 
but  to-day  that  smile  did  not  appear.   Saki  sighed. 

"Man  try  to  get  me  to  tell  dishonorable  untruth," 
he  bemoaned. 

"Eh?"  said  Bill,  interested  at  once. 

"He  offer  me  dishonorable  cash." 

"Ha!"  said  Bill. 

"Which,  when  I  spurn  haughtily,  he  offer  me 
more!"  lamented  Saki. 

"Raised  the  ante,  eh?"  said  Bill. 

"Three  times  he  say  more !" 

"Some  little  Oliver  Twist!  And  what  did  you 
do?" 

"With  scomfulness  I  quote  immortal  line :  'Rags 
are  royal  raiment' — "  said  Saki  with  flashing  glance. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  143 

"Good!  What  was  it  this  insect  wanted  you  to 
tell  an  untruth  about?" 

Saki  breathed  hard.  "He  want  me  to  tell  dis- 
honorable untruth  about  never  having  been  in  Pata- 
gonia." 

"What?"  ejaculated  Bill.  "The  scoundrel!  The 
worm !" 

"He  want  me  to  tell  dishonorable  untruth  I  enter 
your  honorable  service  here!" 

"Can  you  beat  that?"  said  Bill.  "And  what  did 
you  do  then?" 

"I  raise  the  ante,"  said  Saki,  still  with  flashing 
glance, 

"How?" 

"I  tell  dishonorable  worm  I  serve  honorable  mas- 
ter not  six,  but  sixteen  years — " 

"How's  that?"  said  Bill  quickly. 

"In  Patagonia !" 

"But — see  here — "  The  reincarnation  of  Bill  be- 
stirred himself  on  his  comfortable  couch.  "I  appre- 
ciate your  loyalty,  Professor;  only,  don't  you  see — 
why,  we're  committed  to  six  years.  We  can't  go  on 
raising  the  ante  indefinitely.  Why,  the  next  time,  in 
your  indignation  —  well  founded,  of  course  —  you 
might  say  sixty  years — " 


144  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

Saki  looked  dreadfully  downcast. 

"That's  all  right,  old  chap,  this  time,"  said  "Bill" 
hastily.  "I  wouldn't  hurt  your  feelings  for  any- 
thing. And  I  don't  blame  you  for  raising  the  figures 
once,  like  that.  Your — your  loyalty  made  six  seem 
sixteen — that  is  all — which  I  take  it  is  most  flatter- 
ing to  me.  Mighty  glad  they  do  seem  sixteen,  and, 
on  second  thought,  we'll  make  them  sixteen.  Pro- 
fessor. You  started  in  my  service  when  a  very  little 
boy — llama-trimming  errand  boy!  Sixteen  sounds 
like  six.  Any  one  says  we  said  six,  we'll  say  their 
hearing  misconstrued  the  word.  Get  out  of  that 
easy  enough.  Only — with  all  due  respect — and  not 
wishing  to  put  a  curb  on  your  loyalty — when  dis- 
honorable worm  comes  next  time,  don't  make  it 
sixty,  or  six  hundred." 

Saki  promised  faithfully. 

"And  now,"  said  "Bill,"  "not  as  a  reward,  but 
just  as  a  mark  of  appreciation,  will  you  let  me  be- 
stow upon  you  an  amount  equal  to  the  last  sum  the 
invidious  insect  offered  you?" 

But  Saki  shook  his  head.  "Honorable  truth  is  its 
own  reward,"  he  said. 

"Ha!  Yes?  Oh,  so  it  is.  By  the  way,  what  did 
this  slimy  apology  for  a  human  being  look  like?" 

Saki  described  the  tempter. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  145 

"Might  have  known  it,"  said  the  reincarnation 
of  Bill.  "Johnnie  Briggs!  Well,  I  fancy  he  won't 
come  crawling  around  here  any  more." 

"I  see  strange  man  dodging  on  the  fire-escape," 
said  Saki.  "See  me,  and  he  dodge  back  pretty  blame' 
quick." 

"Well,  maybe  he  was  only  a  burglar,"  observed 
"Bill"  languidly.  "Don't  mind  a  little  thing  like 
that!  And  say,  Professor,  wouldn't  you  like  some 
festivities — evening  off — vacation — ^you  work  too 
hard—" 

Saki  beamed  with  pleasure.  "Honorable  master 
no  want,  I  enjoy  to-night  wild  hilarity  and  festiv- 
ity-" 

"Some  roof  garden,  eh?" 

"Public  library,"  said  Saki. 

"Awh!"  Bill  looked  disgusted.  "Instead  of  rev- 
eling with  gay  'skirts'  he's  going  to  plunge  into  a 
mad  debauch  with — " 

"Anthropology,"  with  gleeful  anticipation. 

Bill  made  a  gesture.  "Sounds  like  a  new  kind 
of  'booze'!  All  right,  Professor!  Go  and  intoxicate 
yourself." 

Saki  departed  with  a  deep  bow,  but,  before  go- 
ing, he  looked  carefully  after  the  fastening  of  the 
fire-escape. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MRS.  SLIPAWAY'S  visit  to  the  apartment 
of  Mr.  William  Carter  had  been  productive 
of  at  least  one  satisfactory  result  from  the  stand- 
point of  that  good  lady.    She  had  satisfied  herself, 
beyond  doubt,  that  Horatio  was  not  suffering  from 
mental  delusion,  superinduced  by  a  bump  on  the  head, 
as  to  his  identity  with  the  Patagonian  llama  trim- 
mer.   Duplicity  like  a  serpent  nested  in  his  breast 
and  effrontery  sat  on  his  brow.   With  the  discovery 
of  the  "missing  link"— the  indefatigable  "professor" 
— to  account  for  Horatio's  abundance  of  encyclo- 
pedic information  concerning  South  America,  the 
bump-on-the-head    theory,    with    its    extraordinary 
mental  after-afflictions  and  abnormalities,  vanished 
in  thin  air.    That  Horatio  had  deliberately  designed 
and  plotted,  set  his  stage,  and  proceeded  with  mas- 
terly precision  in  the  marshaling  of  every  detail  was 
now  satisfactorily  established  in  her  mind  beyond 
peradventure.    She  arrived  at  the  conclusion  slowly 
but  surely ;  she  was  very  conscientious  in  her  desire 
not  to  do  Horatio  an  injustice.     She  wanted  to  be 

146 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  147. 

quite  fair  and  strictly  honorable  as  to  future  pro- 
ceedings. At  the  same  time  that  idea  of  retribution 
— of  paying  the  fiddler  if  you  dance  (and  hadn't 
Horatio  danced?) — had  deep  root  in  her  brain. 

She  did  not  take  the  ever-willing  Mr.  Briggs  into 
her  confidence;  she  might  use,  or  employ  Johnnie, 
if  he  came  in  handy,  but  to  reveal  to  that  gentleman 
the  inner  workings  of  her  brain  was  quite  out  of  the 
question.  There  was,  however,  another  she  felt  she 
might  trust — one  whose  advice  would  carry  weight 
— one  who  could  say  just  what  was  right  and  proper 
— and  what  wasn't.  Had  he  not  accompanied  her 
that  memorable  day  when  she  had  betaken  herself 
to  Mr.  Carter's  lair,  and  had  he  not  comported  him- 
self on  that  important  occasion  with  dignity,  pru- 
dence and  discretion  ?  Indeed,  he  had  hardly  spoken 
a  word,  but  the  moral  force  of  his  presence  had 
carried  weight — great  weight ! 

Mrs.  Slipaway  accordingly  once  more  sought  the 
support  and  aid  of  this  reverend  gentleman  in  her 
moment  of  feminine  weakness  and  indecision.  She 
found  him  in,  and  he  received  her  in  the  pastoral 
parlor  with  a  certain  eagerness  and  expectancy.  He 
was  plainly  glad  to  see  her;  in  fact,  the  sight  of  Mrs. 
Slipaway  promised  both  weird  entertainment  and 
relief  from  the  ordinary  monotony  and  humdrum  of 


148  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

his  daily  duties.  He  cocked  his  head.  Memories  of 
an  atmosphere  replete  with  impressionistic  woman, 
revelry,  sulphur  kings,  Patagonian  still  wine,  hon- 
orable pop-pops,  and  a  wiggling  young  heathen,  as- 
sailed him.    He  drew  out  a  chair  for  the  good  lady. 

"Well,  where  is  the  wanderer  to-night?"  he  said 
as  airily  as  he  could.  Time  enough  to  be  lugubrious 
later  on ! 

Mrs.  Slipaway  shook  her  head.  "I've  been  think- 
ing," she  began. 

"Serious  thought  is  good  for  all  of  us,"  said  he. 

"The  point  inexorably  settled  is,"  she  observed 
slowly,  "he  knows  what  he's  about." 

"I  fear  he  does,"  said  the  other.    And  sighed. 

But  Mrs.  Slipaway  did  not  sigh.  She  went  on 
practically :  "Having  got  that  far,  it  may  be  easier 
to  determine  what  to  do  next,"  she  remarked  de- 
liberately. 

"So  it  will  be,"  he  said,  but  offered  no  sugges- 
tions. 

"Of  course,  as  I  now  see  it,  Horatio  has  got 
himself  tied  up  into  a  knot  and  doesn't  know  how 
to  untie  himself.  Maybe  he's  longing  to  untie  him- 
self at  this  blessed  moment,  but  doesn't  know  how." 

"No?"  said  the  minister  with  slight  skepticism. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  149 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "He's  tied  the  knot 
so  tight  it  won't  come  undone.  There  are  some 
knots  you  just  give  up — your  fingers  simply  can't 
do  anything  with  them — and  you  end  by  breaking 
the  string,  letting  the  knot  be.  Maybe  that's  the 
kind  of  a  knot  Horatio  has  tied  himself  up  into. 
One  of  those  hopeless  kinds  of  knots." 

"I  am  sure  your — ahem! — ^knot  theory  is  both 
interesting  and  charitable  in  its — ahem! — applica- 
tion to  the  subject  of  our  conversation,"  said  the 
minister  cautiously. 

"Maybe,"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway  pensively, 
"there  are  times  when  he  sits  there  and  wishes  he 
could  untie  that  knot." 

"Maybe,"  said  the  minister,  with  still  greater  res- 
ervation in  his  tones. 

"Sometimes,  perhaps,  he  thinks  of  the  little  old 
one-time  despised  mottoes,"  pursued  the  lady,  in  the 
same  tone. 

"Hum!"  said  the  minister. 

"Maybe  mottoes  do  have  a  bad  effect  on — on  cer- 
tain subjects — I  mean,  people,"  ruminated  the  lady. 
"Be  that  as  it  may,  poor  Horatio,  what  with  that 
designing  female  of  the  species,  and  some  other 
troubles  Johnnie  Briggs  has  intimated  he  had,  didn't 


150  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

hardly  know  what  he  was  doing,  and  then  came  the 
temptation — this  way  out — and  he  took  it,  not  see- 
ing what  it  would  lead  to,  and,  as  I  was  saying,  he's 
got  himself  tied  up  into  so  many  kinds  of  knots 
and  double  knots — with  Patagonian  llamas,  and  sul- 
phur—" 

"And  heathens!" 

"He's  just  like  a  prisoner  tied  to  a  stake.  Can't 
get  away !   No  matter  how  he  might  like  to !" 

"Like?"  repeated  the  minister,  with  faint  irony. 

"Like !"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  firmly.  "I  think,  at 
heart,  Horatio  is  a  great  home-body." 

"The  supposition  does  you  credit,  at  least,"  ob- 
served the  minister  politely,  recalling  a  vision  of 
empty  "pop-pops"  and  Saki's  allusions  to  "infant- 
paralysis"  and  a  certain  kind  of  a  hot  place,  fre- 
quented by  the  blithe  Mr.  Carter.     "Great  credit!" 

"I  have  faith  that  Horatio,  secretly,  may  be 
pining,"  continued  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Eh?"  said  the  minister. 

"Pining,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  other,  but  he  added  something 
about  the  divine  faith  of  woman;  how  beautiful  it 
was,  and — 

"The  point  is,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "how 
to  help  him  untie  those  knots.     His  poor,  dear  fin- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  151 

gers  are  too  weak;  they  are  beyond  him;  shouldn't 
we  help?" 

"Would  he  —  ah!  —  welcome  assistance,  think 
you?"  observed  the  pastor, 

"Of  course  he  would."    Promptly. 

"Oh !"  said  the  minister. 

"Of  course,  consciously,  there  is  a  possibility  he 
might  think  he  wouldn't,  but  subconsciously  he 
would  surely  receive  our  aid  gladly." 

"Kind  of  an  emancipation !"  remarked  the  other, 
still  with  a  tendency  to  be  skeptical. 

"That's  it!  Like  freeing  the  slaves!  Horatio's 
a  slave  to  Bill  Carter." 

"A  fire-eating  sulphur  king!"  groaned  the  min- 
ister. "If  he  had  to  jump  into  somebody's  skin,  why 
could  he  not,  at  least,  have  picked  out  somebody  re- 
spectable, like  a  Sunday-school  superintendent,  or 
a  missionary,  or  a — a  secretary  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A., 
or—" 

"I  think  Horatio  wanted  to  be  somebody  who 
would  do  things,"  murmured  Mrs.  Slipaway  dream- 
ily. 

"  *Do'  everybody,  more  like !"  returned  the  other. 

"He  wanted  to  be  a  force — a  power !" 

The  minister  stared  at  Mrs.  Slipaway  incredu- 
lously. 


152  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"He  was  tired  of  being  just  a  whipper-snapper," 
went  on  that  good  lady,  in  the  same  tone,  "He 
wanted  to  come  out  of  his  shell — to  ascend — " 

"Sulphur!"  muttered  the  minister. 

" — to  great  heights !  To  show  the  world !  And  he 
has  done  well,  hasn't  he?" 

"Well?"  said  the  other. 

"In  a  worldly  sense!" 

"If  you  call  taking  a  plunge  in  fire-and-brimstone 
and  getting  away  with  it — doing  well — " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  defending  him,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway 
quickly. 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  the  other. 

"Far  be  it  from  me !" 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that!  Sin,  iniquity 
and  deception — " 

"Must  be  punished !"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Now  we're  getting  back  to  where  we  should  have 
started,"  said  the  minister.  "Without  punishment 
deception  would  prosper;  it  would  reach  out  its 
tentacles;  it  would  embrace — yes,  stifle — the  whole 
world  in  its  clutches !" 

"It  would,"  assented  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "and  that's 
why  we've  got  to  'jar'  Horatio." 

"Only  'jar'?"  said  the  minister  severely. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  153 

She  smiled  gently.  *T  think  it  might  suffice,  if — 
properly  administered." 

He  gazed  at  her  quickly.  Her  smile  became  know- 
ing.   The  minister  moved  his  chair  a  little  closer. 

*T've  been  thinking,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  a  sec- 
ond time  that  day.  "There's  only  one  way  to  res- 
cue Horatio — to  save  him  from  himself — " 

"Yes?"  said  the  other  expectantly. 

"The  question  is,  would  it  be  right?" 

"Right  to  rescue? — to  throw  him  a  life-line?" 

"I  mean  the  means  we  should  have  to  employ! 
The  question  is,  could  we  meet  deception  with — well, 
deception?    Would  it  be  strictly  moral?" 

"Hum?"  ruminated  the  pastoral  adviser.  "I  have 
heard  something  about  fighting  the  devil  with  his 
own  weapons." 

"That's  so.  The  end  would  justify  the  means. 
I'm  so  glad  you  approve.  I  never  could  have  gone 
ahead  with  it  without  your  approval." 

"Ahead  with  what?" 

Mrs.  Slipaway  rapidly  elucidated  her  plan. 

"Then   you  think   it   will   be   quite   moral   and 
proper?"  Mrs.  Slipaway  asked  anxiously. 
"I  should  say  the  end  quite  justified — " 


154  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"And  you  will  help?" 

"Hum?"    Dubiously. 

"What  was  that  you  said  about  fighting  the  devil 
with—" 

"I  think  I  can  conscientiously  proffer  my  serv- 
ices in  the  matter,"  said  the  minister  slowly. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  arose  gaily.  "We've  got  the  bat- 
tle as  good  as  won !" 

"Have  we?"    His  eyes  began  to  shine. 

"We'll  rescue  poor  Horatio — in  spite  of  himself!" 

"In  spite  of  himself!"  said  the  minister. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  moved  toward  the  front  door ;  her 
step  was  light,  and  at  the  moment  she  looked  quite 
youthful  and  handsome.  She  wore  her  new  hat,  and 
there  wasn't  a  worry-line  on  her  face.  The  min- 
ister regarded  her  with  approval  as  he  held  her  soft 
hand  the  fraction  of  a  moment  at  parting.  Quite  a 
wonderful  woman,  he  told  himself;  she  seemed  to 
thrive  on  trouble.  So  capable — and  yes,  so  good- 
looking;  yes,  positively  good-looking. 

"Of  course,  I  wouldn't  like  Horatio  to  lose  all 
those  new  qualities  he's  acquired  as  Bill  Carter," 
she  observed.  "In  a  way,  he's  found  himself,  and 
maybe  I've  expanded  a  bit,  too.  Maybe,  we  didn't 
quite  understand  each  other.  You  got  to  go  through 
a  little  fire  sometimes,  haven't  you  ?" 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  155 

"Are  you  referring  to  sulphur?"  said  the  minister, 
puzzled, 

"I  am  not,"  she  answered,  with  an  enigmatic 
smile.  "I  hate  to  do  what  we're  going  to,  to  Hora- 
tio, but  I  guess  we've  got  to.  You  see,  I  can't  let 
him  stay  away  from  home  like  that,  can  I?  Why, 
think  of  the  things  that  might  happen  to  him !"  At 
the  moment  her  tone  almost  verged  upon  being  ten- 
der. 

"That  probably  would,"  observed  the  minister. 
"That  most  likely  have !" 

"A  man  of  Horatio's  character  and  attainments 
needs  careful  looking-after !"  she  murmured. 

"He  certainly  does,"  said  the  minister. 

"I  mean — attention,  and  all  that,"  she  returned. 

"You  speak  as  if  he  were  going  to  have  a — com- 
fortable time?"  said  the  minister  severely,  even 
chidingly. 

"Not  immediately,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "Not 
immediately!"  she  repeated,  and  tripped  away. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MR.  TIMOTHY  TREADWAY  pondered 
darkly  on  the  future  and  how  to  pay  your 
landlady  twenty-seven  dollars  when  you  haven't 
twenty-seven  cents  in  your  pocket.  Who  is  this  Mr. 
Tread  way  who  propels  himself  thus  abruptly,  almost 
startlingly,  in  the  vortex  of  these  eventful  happen- 
ings? Mr.  Treadway  is  an  actor;  at  present  he 
is  out  of  an  engagement,  and  the  prospects  of  be- 
ing able  to  employ  his  talents,  profitably,  in  the  im- 
mediate future,  are  not  bright.  Mr.  Treadway 
has  plenty  of  talent,  but  he  has  a  weakness;  he 
sometimes  looks  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red, 
which  reprehensible  and  sometimes  too  persistent 
habit  led  certain  managers  to  look  upon  Mr.  Tread- 
way with  disfavor.  Mr.  Treadway  said  the  world 
was  in  a  conspiracy  against  him,  while  as  a  matter 
of  fact  he  was  only  conspiring  against  himself. 

While  Mr.  Treadway  was  lying  in  bed  one  fine 
morning  and  mentally  seeking  to  multiply  said  twen- 
ty-seven cents  by  nothing  and  make  the  "answer" 

156 


JHE  NUT  CRACKER  157 

twenty-seven  dollars,  there  came  a  tapping  at  his 
door. 

"Come  in,"  he  said,  and  the  Reverend  Nehemiah 
Bodkins  entered. 

"Mr.  Treadway?"  said  the  gentleman. 

"The  same,"  said  Mr.  Treadway,  sitting  up  in 
bed.  A  faint  expression  of  surprise  rested  upon 
Mr,  Treadway's  classic  features.  He  was  not  used 
to  receiving  pastoral  "calls." 

"My  name  is  Bodkins,"  said  the  caller,  seating 
himself.    "Reverend  Nehemiah  Bodkins!" 

"Odds — bodkins!"  Mr.  Treadway  murmured  be- 
neath his  breath.  "Haven't  you  made  a  mistake, 
sir?" 

"No ;  it's  quite  all  right,"  said  the  caller.  "I  have 
just  been  to  what  you  call,  I  believe,  an  'agency,' 
and  I  have  been  told  you  are  out  of  an  engagement." 

"The  information,  though  sad,  is  quite  true,"  said 
Mr.  Treadway.  "No  one  regrets  it,  sir,  more  than 
myself.  But  lamentations  do  not  alter  conditions, 
hence  I  am  not  complaining.  I  am,  sir,  making  the 
best  of  it." 

"Bravely  said,"  observed  the  reverend  gentleman, 
cocking  his  head  shrewdly  at  Mr.  Treadway.  "And 
allow  me  to  add  that  it  is  the  fact  that  you  are  thus 
unfortunately  placed  that  has  led  to  my  calling." 


158  .THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"You  aren't  a  manager  in  disguise  ?"  muttered  the 
incredulous  Mr.  Treadway. 

"Hardly !  Nevertheless,  I  have  come  to  offer  you 
an  engagement.  I  am  told  your  specialty  is  imper- 
sonations— I  believe  you  call  it.  I  am  not  exactly 
sure  just  what  that  implies,  but  it  seems  to — shall 
we  say? — rather  fill  the  bill." 

"Yes,  I  have  been  very  successful  along  that  line," 
said  Mr.  Treadway  modestly.  "Make  up  before  the 
mirror  with  your  back  to  the  audience,  and  turn 
around  as  George  Washington,  Honest  Abe,  U.  S. 
Grant,  Napoleon,  and  Sousa,  all  in  quick  succes- 
sion!" he  explained.  "In  the  skill  and  rapidity  of 
the  make-up  I  have  been  considered  rather  at  the 
top  in  that  sort  of  thing,  if  I  do  say  so  myself." 

"How  interesting!"  said  the  caller.  "Do  you 
think  you  would  be  as  successful  as  an  impersonator 
away  from  the — ah! — footlights,  as  before  them?" 

"Me?"  said  Mr.  Treadway.  "We  don't  meas- 
ure our  abilities  by  the  yard-stick,  in  our  profession. 
I  take  it,  from  your  question,  you  have  some  mov- 
ing-picture proposition  to  put  up  to  me  ?  Something 
in  the  amateur  line,  with  a  few  real  actors  to  lend  it 
eclat?" 

"Not  exactly." 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  159 

"I  thought  you  implied  it  was  an  outdoors  prop- 
osition?" said  the  puzzled  Mr.  Treadway. 

"So  I  did,  but  there  is  no  camera  attachment." 

"I  don't  get  you,"  said  Mr.  Treadway.  "You 
mean  I  just  waste  a  lot  of  good  stuff  on  the  desert 
air?" 

"Not  waste,"  answered  the  caller.  "You  utilize 
your — ahem ! — talents  in  a  good  cause." 

"Oh,  it's  some  garden-party  stunt — I  get  you! 
Little  rich  girls — birthday-cake — pink  lemonade — 
funny-man  entertains  the  pampered  pets  with  inter- 
esting and  instructive  representations  of  historical 
characters !" 

"L'm  afraid,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman,  "you 
don't  'get'  me.  This  is  no  garden-party  entertain- 
ment upon  which  I  desire  you  to  embark;  in  fact, 
it  would  hardly  be  called  an  entertainment,  at  all. 
It  is  more  in  the  nature  of  a — solemn  occasion;  and 
should  lead  to  sackcloth  and  ashes — lamenta- 
tions— " 

"Aren't  you  looking  for  a  tragedian?"  suggested 
Mr.  Treadway.  "Your  plot  suggests  to  me  Othello 
or  Richard  the  Third." 

"The  tragedy,  sir,"  observed  the  caller,  "is  not  a 
written  one." 


160  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"No?    Don't  I  have  lines  to  speak?" 

"You  do.  Lines  you  improvise  yourself,  on  the 
inspiration  of  the  moment!" 

"Sounds  good,"  ruminated  Mr.  Treadway,  "I 
always  wanted  to  be  an  author.  Do  I  get  a  royalty?" 

"Lump  sum,"  said  the  minister. 

A  shadow  of  disappointment  flitted  across  the 
visage  of  Mr.  Treadway.  "Oh,  very  well,"  he  ob- 
served. "Though  I  should  have  preferred  five, 
seven  and  a  half,  and  ten  of  the  gross." 

"I  fear  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  impersonate  a 
very  reprehensible  person,"  said  the  minister.  "Have 
you — may  I  ask? — ever  impersonated  a  very  repre- 
hensible person?" 

"On  sundry  occasions,"  said  Mr.  Treadway  sol- 
emnly. "I  don't  know  as  I  ever  tied  the  hero  to  a 
railway  track,  or  in  front  of  a  buzz-saw,  but  I 
turned  my  wayward  daughter  out-of-doors,  on  a 
wintry  night,  four  hundred  and  seventeen  times. 
The  play  ran  that  long.  And  every  time  I  appeared 
before  the  curtain  I  was  poohed  and  booed,  in  a 
most  flattering  manner." 

"Dear  me !"  said  the  minister. 

"Those  long-run  thrillers  are,  more  or  less,  a 
thing  of  the  past,"  murmured  Mr.  Treadway  regret- 
fully.   "What's  the  salary?" 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  161 

"One  hundred  dollars." 

"What?"     Indignantly.     "Only—?" 

"For  one  performance,"  said  the  caller,  putting 
up  a  finger. 

"One?"  said  Mr.  Treadway,  dazed. 

"One." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Treadway  mourn- 
fully. 

"It  is  as  good  as  that.  One  performance  will  suf- 
fice— quite !" 

"Sounds  as  if  you  expected  to  kill  your  audi- 
ence !"  grumbled  Mr.  Treadway. 

"Not  kill,"  said  the  pastoral  visitor  softly.  "Shock, 
perhaps — plant  a  dart  or  two — but  not  kill." 

"You  mean  paralyze,  not  annihilate,  the  audi- 
ence ?"  said  Mr.  Treadway  ironically. 

"Something  like  that." 

Mr.  Treadway  ruminated  moodily.  "Why  don't 
you  hire  a  gunman  ?  You  don't  want  an  actor." 

"It  will  take  both  an  actor  and  a  great  artist  for 
the  part,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Bodkins  impres- 
sively. 

"As  it  sounds  like  murder,  make  it  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five,"  said  Mr.  Treadway. 

"One  hundred  and  fifteen,"  countered  the  cler- 
ical visitor  shrewdly.  / 


162  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Oh,  well!"  said  Mr.  Treadway  carelessly,  "I 
never  was  one  to  haggle.  When — how — and  where 
— does  this  murder  take  place?" 

The  caller  explained.  Mr.  Treadway  listened 
with  growing  interest. 

"Can  I  do  it?"  he  said.    "Can  I?" 

"Can  you?"  said  the  caller. 

"Can  me,  if  I  can't!"  he  replied  enigmatically. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Bodkins  looked  puzzled;  the 
horrible  pun  was  lost  upon  him.  He  took  out  a  roll 
of  bills.  "Half  now,"  he  observed.  "The  other 
half  when — " 

"The  dire  deed  is  done,"  said  Mr.  Treadway 
brightly. 

And  thereafter,  for  a  long  time,  the  reverend  gen- 
tleman coached  him.  Mr.  Treadway  dived  in  his 
make-up  box,  and  extracted  a  long  black  mustache. 
"This  should  do  the  trick,"  he  said,  and,  adjusting 
the  mustache,  scowled  fiercely.     "How's  it  look?" 

"I  should  hate  to  meet  you  on  a  dark  night,"  said 
the  minister  with  a  smile. 

"So  will  some  one  else,"  said  Mr.  Treadway. 

"Well,  did  you  engage  him  ?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway 
later  that  day  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Bodkins. 
"I  did,"  said  the  gentleman,  settling  himself  com- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  163 

fortably  in  an  easy  chair  in  that  lady's  home.  "An 
excellent  actor,  they  told  me  at  the  agency.  But  I 
had  to  exceed  the  sum  we  agreed  upon;  he  de- 
manded one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars;  we 
compromised  on  one  hundred  and  fifteen." 

"I'm  sure  he's  cheap  at  the  price,"  said  Mrs. 
Slipaway.  "When  you  do  something,  you  want  to 
do  it  well.  It'll  be  money  well  spent — though  it  does 
make  a  hole  in  the — ah ! — " 

"Sacred  legacy?"  suggested  the  minister. 

"Yes.  Somehow,  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  needed  that 
quite  so  much  as  I  used  to,"  she  went  on  dreamily. 
"Not  since  Horatio's  demonstrated  he's  such  a 
money-maker.  I  used  to  think  I  just  had  to  hang 
on  to  it,  but  that  was  before  Horatio  woke  up." 

"Woke  up  ?"  said  the  minister  blankly.  "I  should 
hardly  call  it — " 

"The  fact  remains,  he's  suddenly  so  full  of  *pep' 
you  can't  hold  him  down.  And  that — in  a  mone- 
tary way — gives  me  such  confidence — " 

"Confidence — in  him?"  gasped  the  caller. 

"In  a  monetary  way!"  repeated  Mrs.  Slipaway. 
"Of  course!  His  morals  must  be  shaken  up,  and 
he  must  be  made  to  realize — " 

"Of  course  I  He  will  be  made  to  realize,"  said  the 
caller  with  exceeding  firmness. 


164  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Fully!"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  just  a  shade  less 
firmly. 

The  caller  looked  around  him;  he  was  naturally 
very  observant,  and  for  the  first  time,  felt  something 
was  wanting. 

"One  of  the  mottoes,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  read- 
ing his  thoughts  quickly. 

"Which  one?"  said  the  caller,  with  a  slight  uphft 
of  the  brow. 

"  The  Lord  Will  Provide,'  "  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 
"When  Horatio  was  just  skimping  along  and  didn't 
seem  to  have  any  gumption  at  all,  that  motto  seemed 
helpful.  Not  that  I  don't  think  it  would  decorate 
fittingly  any  home,  even  now,  only  there  did  seem 
others  that  needed  it  more.  I  know  it  used  to  make 
Horatio  rather  nervous;  seemed  a  sort  of  reflection 
on  his  ability,  when  he  wasn't  getting  along  very 
well.  He  used  to  stand  and  stare  at  it.  So  I  sent 
it  to  Mrs.  Flattery  anonymously." 

"Why  Mrs.  Flattery?"  said  the  caller  rather 
stiffly. 

"Haven't  you  heard  ?  Her  husband  is  down  with 
delirium  tremens;  her  children  have  the  measles, 
and  she's  broken  her  working  arm.  Poor  dear,  if 
anybody  needs   that   motto,"   said   Mrs.    Slipaway 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  165 

sympathetically,  "or  any  stray  comfort  it  conveys, 
it's  she.    Seemed  like  doing  good  to  send  it !" 

*T  dare  say,"  said  the  minister  absently. 

"But  speaking  about  Horatio,"  said  Mrs.  Slip- 
away,  "I've  been  thinking." 

"Indeed?"  said  the  minister. 

"There's  Johnnie  Briggs — he  v^ants  to  be  help- 
ful, you  know.  He's  so  fond  of  dear  Horatio  and 
hates  to  see  him  slipping  from  the  path  of  rectitude." 

"Well?"  said  the  caller  expectantly. 

"I'm  planning  to  use  Johnnie,  too.  Just  a  small 
part!  I  have  it  all  figured  out  beautifully — just 
where  he  would  fit  in.  And  he'd  just  love  to  do  it, 
I  know — he's  so  fond  of  Horatio !" 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Bodkins  regarded  her  admir- 
ingly. Why,  she  was  a  regular  stage-manager. 
Pretty  soon  she'd  have  everybody  playing  a  part. 

"I'm  sure  Johnnie  would  be  lonesome,  if  we 
didn't  give  him  something  to  do,"  said  the  lady. 
And  then,  looking  at  a  blank  space  on  the  wall :  "I 
wonder  if  Horatio  will  miss  it?" 

"You  speak  with  certainty  of  our  experiment — of 
his  returning  home?"  said  the  caller. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "I'm  sure,  in 
the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he's  just  longing  to." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MR.  CARTER  lolled  languidly  on  his  couch 
of  ease.  He  had  dined  excellently  but  not 
too  fulsomely  at  a  high-priced  place;  he  had  par- 
taken of  a  modest  pint  of  claret,  and  then  gone  to 
a  "show."  But  the  play  had  seemed  dull,  flat  and 
profitless,  to  one  of  his  active  brain;  why,  his  own 
life  was  full  of  more  incident  and  variety  than  that 
piece.  He  could  devise  far  more  interesting  situa- 
tions in  his  daily  existence  than  the  dramatist  could 
conceive  for  these  people  on  the  stage  who  just 
imagined  they  were  in  a  peck  of  trouble  all  the  time, 
while  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  audience  knew  they 
could  straighten  it  all  out  ever  so  easily,  if  only 
they  would.  So  after  yawning  a  good  deal,  Mr. 
Carter  got  up  and  went  out. 

He  returned  to  his  apartments  at  once,  and  put- 
ting on  a  dressing-gown,  lighted  a  cigar,  stretched 
himself  out  and  prepared  to  spend  the  balance  of 
the  evening  engrossed  in  light  literature  of  the  ad- 
venturesome variety.  A  good  smashing  novel  of 
action  was  especially  what  he  yearned  for — pearl- 

166 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  167 

hunting  in  the  South  Seas,  or  gold-seeking  in  the 
Incas — but  he  sought,  in  vain,  to-night,  for  some- 
thing up  to  the  high  standard  he  demanded  along 
those  lines.  The  story-writers,  like  the  playwright 
whose  work  he  had  partly  listened  to,  seemed  to 
have  lost  the  punch.  Maybe  Mr.  Carter,  whose 
own  life  was  now  lifted  to  a  rather  lurid  plane,  de- 
manded too  much  of  the  creators  of  fanciful  epi- 
sodes. At  any  rate  he  soon  found  himself  yawning 
once  more.  Then  the  last  magazine  he  had  essayed 
in  vain  to  interest  himself  in,  slipped  from  his  fin- 
gers, and  gradually  he  fell  into  a  half-doze. 

He  dreamed  he  was  chasing  a  llama  up  the  Andes, 
and  it  was  "some  chase."  Up — up — he  was  like  the 
youth  in  "Excelsior!"  Now  he  almost  had  the 
pesky  beast,  and  then  he  didn't.  "I'll  get  you  yet," 
said  Horatio — or  Bill — in  his  dreams.  It  was  a 
particularly  woolly  beast,  the  pet  of  his  flock,  and  no 
real  llama-trimmer  likes  to  lose  his  choicest  llamakin. 
But  the  llama  turned  around  and  seemed  to  grin  at 
"Bill" ;  now  a  llama  has  naturally  a  most  unprepos- 
sessing visage ;  in  fact,  its  head  looks  like  a  Mistake, 
fastened  upon  a  bigger  Mistake,  its  body.  It  was  a 
regular  mis-fit  grin — worse  than  a  hyena's — and 
it  steeled  the  faithful  shepherd  to  greater  effort. 
Up — up — now  they  had  reached  the  highest  alti- 


168  JHE  NUT  CRACKER 

tudes,  and  Horatio — Mr.  Carter — was  plunging 
madly  from  peak  to  peak,  when  suddenly  he  missed 
his  footing  and  fell — thousands  and  thousands  of 
feet — landing  with  a  crash  in  the  rocky  canyon  be- 
low. 

Mr.  Carter  sat  up;  likewise,  he  rubbed  his 
eyes.  He  was  sitting  on  the  floor ;  he  gazed  around 
him  expectantly  as  if  thinking  to  behold  the  illusive 
and  diabolical  phantom  llamakin,  but  instead,  he  be- 
held a  man.  This  person  stood  with  folded  arms 
and  was  gazing  at  Mr.  Carter,  with  an  expression 
at  once  belligerent  and  puzzled. 

"Hello,"  said  Mr.  Carter. 

"Hello,"  said  the  man. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  see  you^'  went  on  Mr,  Carter. 

"No?"  observed  the  man. 

"Something  else,"  remarked  Mr.  Carter.  "Whew! 
That  was  some  chase.    I  feel  all  tired  out." 

"Do  you?"  said  the  man,  shooting  out  his  chin. 

"H  you  would  only  grin,"  observed  Mr.  Carter, 
"it — it  would  seem  more  natural — what  I  expected !" 

"Would  it?"  said  the  man.  "Well,  I  don't  feel 
like  grinning."    His  tone  was  ominous. 

"Anyway,  I'm  not  killed,"  said  Mr.  Carter  cheer- 
fully. 

"Yet!"  said  the  man  succinctly. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  169 

If  Mr.  Carter  heard  the  ominous  accent  his  vis- 
itor imparted  to  the  word  his  manner  did  not 
show  it. 

"Ha,  ha!"  he  said. 

"You  find  it  funny — my  being  here?"  said  the 
man,  putting  out  his  chin  again. 

"Oh,  no.  I  wasn't  thinking  about  you.  In  fact, 
I  was  hardly  noticing  you." 

"No,"  said  the  man,  his  eyes  beginning  to  gleam. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  llama  grin  ?" 

"What's  that  ?"  The  man  stepped  forward  a  foot 
or  two,  menacingly. 

"Llama — grin,"  said  Mr.  Carter  mirthfully. 

"What's  the  game  ?"  said  the  man. 

"I  suppose  now  you're  going  to  be  tiresome," 
said  Mr.  Carter.  "I  yawned  over  a  quarter  of  a 
play  and  fell  asleep  over  a  novel,  and  now  I  imagine 
I'm  going  to  be  bored  with  you." 

"Who  do  you  think  I  am  ?"  said  the  man. 

"Burglar — common  burglar — you  came  in  there" 
— pointing  to  the  fire-escape.  "All  very  common- 
place !"  he  yawned.  "Devilish  dull  night !  Nothing 
more  commonplace  than  a  burglar.  Burglar-plays; 
burglar-stories,  galore !  Fell  asleep  over  one  of  them 
just  now!  Wake  up" — reproachfully — "only  to 
find  you  here." 


170  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Oh,  you  won't  find  me  so  dull,"  said  the  man. 

"After  all  I've  been  through,"  said  Mr.  Carter, 
"the  vicissitudes  and  adventures  I've  had,  here,  and 
in  South  America,  you  seem  trivial  to  me.  There 
isn't  a  thrill  in  you." 

"Isn't  there?"  said  the  man  in  a  strange  tone. 

"Now  if  you  were  only  a  llama,  and  could  jump 
over  peaks — " 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  the  visitor  with  much 
fierceness. 

Mr.  Carter  refused  to  be  awed.  He  waved  his 
hand  idly.  "Take  them,  and  go,"  he  observed.  "The 
little  Venus  over  there.  She's  a  cutey,  and  by  a 
top-notch  artist.  And  there's  the  rest  of  those  bric- 
a-brac  females.  Tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  tired  of 
them.  They  aren't  what  they  pretend  to  be.  Lot 
of  humbug  about  art!  What's  the  fun  of  looking 
at  something  that  never  changes  her  position.  Some- 
times I've  been  tempted  to  stand  the  whole  lot  of 
'em  on  their  heads,  so's  to  make  'em  look  different. 
You'll  find  a  flour-bag  out  in  the  kitchenette  to  cart 
'em  away  in,  if  you  didn't  bring  one  along." 

"Say,  if  you  think  I'm  going  to  stand  being 
called  a  llama — ?"  began  the  man  with  terrible  ag- 
gressiveness. 

Mr.  Carter  leaned  his  back  against  the  couch  and 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  171 

lighted  a  cigar.  "Oh,  I  didn't  call  you  one,"  he  ob- 
served wearily.  *T  only  remarked,  regretfully,  if 
you  only  were  one,  which,  unfortunately,  you  are 
not—" 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  the  man,  poking  his  face 
nearer  Mr.  Carter's,  "you  mean  to  insult  me." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Carter  airily.  "If  you  were 
a  llama,  I  would  enjoy  the  felicity  of  trimming  you 
— as  it  is,  the  boot  seems  on  the  other  leg,  and  it  is 
you  who  are  going  to  trim  me.  Go  ahead!  The 
only  thing  I  stipulate  is,  you  spare  my  young  and 
tender  life.  Please" — imploringly — "don't  'biff  me 
on  the  bean.'  " 

"Say,  you  got  it  all  wrong,"  said  the  fellow.  "I'll 
overlook  your  insults  for  the  moment,  pending  the 
adjustment  of  more  serious  matters.  I  didn't  come 
here  because  I'm  a  burglar." 

"No?"  said  Mr.  Carter. 

"No,"  said  the  man.  "I  came  here  because  you 
got  me  puzzled." 

"Puzzled?"  repeated  Mr.  Carter. 

"Plumb,  clean  puzzled,"  said  the  man. 

"You  say  you  didn't  come  here  as  a  burglar.  That, 
at  least,  lifts  you  out  of  the  commonplace — " 

"Aw,  cut  it!"  said  the  man  roughly.  "Do  you 
know  who  I  am  ?" 


172  THE  NUT  CRACKER 


«T'. 


'Vm  very  curious." 

"I'm  Mr.  William  Carter,"  said  the  visitor. 

A  few  moments  before  Horatio  had  been  long- 
ing for  a  real  sensation  —  something  different  — 
something  that  would  lend  spice  and  variety  to  the 
evening.  He  had  now  got  rather  a  larger  measure 
of  new  thrills  than  he  cared  for;  an  overdose!  As 
a  genuine  thriller,  Mr.  William  Carter  (himself) 
was  a  large  pill  to  swallow.  Horatio  gulped 
weakly;  he  stared  at  the  real  Bill  with  incredulous 
gaze. 

The  latter  regarded  him  fiercely.  "Say,  mister, 
what's  the  'lay'  ?" 

"  'Lay'?"  repeated  Horatio,  trying  to  collect  him- 
self. 

"  'Lay' !"  ejaculated  real  Bill.  "I  don't  get  your 
game — that's  all.  I've  been  some  crook  myself, 
but—" 

"  'Crook'  ?"  repeated  Horatio  with  an  almost  im- 
perceptible start. 

" — But  this  is  a  new  one  on  me!"  observed  the 
visitor. 

"I  know  it  was  a  slight  liberty,  Bill,"  remarked 
Horatio,  "but — "  he  paused.  He  wanted  to  spar  for 
time — to  think.  Fancy  Bill  coming  back  like  that! 
And  at  such  an  inauspicious  time!     "You  stayed 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  173 

away  so  long,  Bill,  why  couldn't  you  have  stayed 
away  a  little  longer?  And  how  did  you — ah! — 
happen  to  know  I  was  here  ?" 

"Because  I  trailed  you,"  said  Bill  in  an  awful 
tone.    "When  I  got  out  of  jail — " 

"'Jail'?"  repeated  Horatio,  a  shiver  running 
down  his  spine. 

"I  had  a  longing  to  go  back  to  the  old  village — " 

"You?"  said  Horatio. 

"Can't  even  a  crook  have  feelings?"  said  Bill. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Horatio.  "But  you  don't 
really  mean  to  tell  me  you — Bill  Carter — have  been 
in  jail?" 

"Sure !  I  don't  mind  telling  you" — with  a  slight 
sneer — "a  gentleman  of  your  type!" 

"How — how  long  were  you  in  jail,  Bill?"  said 
Horatio. 

"Oh,  I've  been  in  the  cooler  lots  of  times." 

"Indeed,"  said  Horatio,  "This  is  rather  interest- 
ing. Bill  Carter — ^perennial  jailbird!  What  have 
I  done?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  said  Bill.  "As  I 
said  before,  you  got  me  puzzled.  I've  seen  some 
queer  deals  in  my  day,  but  this  is  the  queerest." 

"So  you,  too,  went  back  to  the  old  town,  Bill?" 
said  Horatio.     "How  odd!" 


174  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

Maybe  Bill  had  visited  the  old  churchyard  ?  "Did 
you,"  said  Horatio,  "visit  her  grave?"   Hoarsely. 

"I  did,"  said  Bill.  "That's  one  of  the  things  that 
took  me  back — the  longing  to  place  a  wreath — " 

"A  wreath?"  said  Horatio  in  a  funny  tone.  "Did 
you — ah! — do  it?" 

"I  did  not.  When  I  got  there  some  one  else  had 
preceded  me.  Some  poison  rattle-snake."  Bill 
breathed  deeply.  Mr.  Slipaway  endeavored  to  ap- 
pear unconcerned. 

"And  what  did  you  do  then.  Bill?" 

"The  longing  came  over  me  to  visit  the  old  home." 

"It  did?"  said  Horatio  in  hushed  tones. 

"It  did,"  said  Bill. 

"And  you  did?" 

"I  did,"  said  Bill. 

"How  odd !"  said  Horatio  once  more.  "And  did 
you  want  to  swing  on  the  same  old  gate?" 

"I  did." 

"And  did  she  stop  you?" 

"She  did,"  said  Bill.  "And  then  I  learned  some 
one  who  had  called  himself  Bill  Carter  had  been 
there  before  me." 

"And  what  did  you  do  then,  Bill?" 

"Nothing — then !  But  everywhere  I  went  I  heard 
people  singing  the  praises  of  Bill  Carter,  and  me 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  175 

standing  there  like  an  interloper.  I  tell  you  that 
made  me  mad.  Here  I'd  come  back  with  kindness 
in  my  heart :  probably  the  first  time  I'd  had  a  good 
impulse  in  years.  *I  will  sit  by  her  grave,'  says  I  to 
myself,  'and  maybe  it'll  make  me  a  better  man.' 
What  happened  ?  Ostentatious  wreath ! — bought  by 
her  loving  son,  Bill  Carter,  says  the  flower  man  to 
me.  I  tell  you,  pardner" — bitterly — "every  good 
impulse  I  had  turned  to  sour  milk.  I  saw  red.  I 
felt  like  I  was  an  outcast.  Well,  says  I  to  myself, 
I'll  act  like  one." 

"And  did  you?"  said  Horatio. 

"I  did,"  said  Bill. 

"What  did  you  do?"  said  Horatio. 

"I  robbed  the  old  home." 

"What?" 

"Stole  every  cent  there  was  in  the  place — and  a 
few  cheap  gee-gaws  to  boot,"  said  Bill  fiercely. 

"You  mean  to  say — you  stole,  perhaps,  from  the 
very  room  where  you  were  born?"  said  Horatio. 

"Worse  than  that,  pardner,"  said  Bill.  "A  man 
tried  to  stop  me.  I  beaned  him.  I  don't  think  he's 
dead.  Don't  much  care !  Felt  like  an  outcast,  any- 
how!" 

"Great  heavens !"  said  Mr.  Slipaway.  "And  what 
did  you  do  then  ?" 


176  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Tapped  the  post-office !" 

"Did  you — ah ! — 'bean'  any  one  there  ?"  In  awed 
tones. 

"Naw!     Just  squeezed  his  gullet.     Old  fool — " 

"And  then  you  left  town?" 

"Not  at  once.  I  passed  the  parsonage.  Remem- 
bered that  old  missionary-box — " 

"Great  Scott.    You  got  it  ?" 

"I  usually  get  what  I  go  after,"  said  Bill  modestly. 

"I — I  trust  that  was  all,"  observed  Mr.  Slipaway 
weakly. 

"Well,  I  passed  the  little  red  schoolhouse — " 

"You  couldn't  carry  that  off." 

"No ;  but  when  I  saw  it,  and  got  thinking  how  I 
was  an  outcast,  and  how  many  whalings  I  had  got 
there,  as  a  little  guy — when  I  got  thinking  of  all 
that—" 

"Yes?" 

"I  kept  getting  madder'n  madder.  And  then  it 
come  over  me  how  I'd  do  one  good  deed  anyhow — 
how  I'd  save  other  little  kids  from  all  I'd  suffered 
in  the  little  red  schoolhouse,  so  I — " 

"Yes,  yes — you — ?" 

"Touched  a  match  to  it !" 

Mr.  Slipaway  ran  his  hands  through  his  hair. 
"You  mean,  you  burned  it  down  ?" 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  177 

"Every  sliver,"  said  Bill.  "And  rejoiced  to  see  it 
burning!" 

Horatio  groaned.  "What  a  home-coming !  And 
did  you — ah! — visit  the  old  swimming-pool?" 

"No,"  said  Bill. 

"Heaven  be  praised !"  said  Mr.  Slipaway.  "You'd 
probably  have  poisoned  it  if  you  had." 

"That's  all  very  well,  mister,"  said  Bill,  with  the 
old  menace  in  his  eyes.  "But  now  you  and  me  has 
got  to  have  a  reckoning." 

"A  reckoning?"  faltered  Mr.  Slipaway.  What 
could  a  gentleman  of  the  real  Bill's  attainments  call 
a  "reckoning"? 

"What  I  want  to  know  first  is  what  kind  of  a 
graft  it  is?  Who  are  you" — fiercely — "and  where 
do  I  come  in?" 

"Don't  you  know  me.  Bill  ?"  said  Horatio,  in  ac- 
cents that  were  intended  to  be  assuaging.  "Look 
closer." 

"Seems  as  if  I  had  seen  you  somewhere  once  be- 
fore," ruminated  the  aggrieved  real  Bill  Carter. 

"Of  course  you  have,"  said  Horatio  quickly. 
"Don't  you  remember  how  your  dear  old  father — 
God  bless  his  soul — while  in  his  cups,  which  was 
nearly  all  the  time,  got  us  mixed  up  once  and  gave 
me  a  licking,  by  mistake,  instead  of  you?" 


178 


THE  NUT  CRACKER 


Bill  gave  a  great  start.  "Do  I  remember?"  he 
said.    And  then — "Little  Horatio  Slipaway !" 

"The  same,"  said  Horatio  eagerly.  Affairs  were 
turning  out  rather  better  than  he  hoped.  Maybe 
he  could  appeal  to  Bill's  old  friendship  and  get  rid 
of  him?  Maybe  Bill  would  consent,  with  a  little 
persuasion,  to  obliterate  himself  once  more?  Mr. 
Slipaway  diplomatically  opened  his  arms. 

"Hold  on,"  said  Bill  Carter,  holding  off  from 
that  fraternal  embrace.  "You  and  me  have  got  to 
have  a  little  talk." 

"Good,"  said  Horatio.  But  he  felt  it  was  very 
bad. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  while  Mr.  Slipaway  had  endured  rather 
than  enjoyed  this  novel  and  animated  little 
scene  with  his  old  friend  Bill,  his  active  brain  had 
not  been  idle  in  seeking  ways  and  means  to  extricate 
himself  from  the  embarrassing  and  unexpected  sit- 
uation into  which  unkind  fate  had  plunged  him.  Mr. 
William  Carter's  return  brought  with  it  a  weight  of 
problems  and  troubles.  It  had  been  extremely  pain- 
ful for  Mr.  Slipaway  to  learn  that  his  old  friend  had 
been  in  durance  vile;  the  reincarnation  of  Bill  had 
thrown  a  glamour  of  respectability,  even  greatness, 
around  the  name  of  Carter;  Bill  had  come  back  in 
person,  to  cast  to  the  earth  the  illustrious  figure 
which  was  the  creation  of  Mr.  Slipaway 's  genius 
and  talent. 

If  he  could  only  get  rid  of  Bill — buy  him  off — 
have  him  shanghaied? — oh,  for  the  good  old  days 
when  they  shanghaied  men  and  sent  them  off  for 
five  years  or  so,  into  the  polar  regions  on  a  whaler. 
Horatio  would  have  dearly  loved  to  consign 
the  real  Bill  to  latitudes  near  the  pole — the  nearer 
the  better — and  he  wouldn't  have  shed  a  tear  if  the 

179 


180  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

real  Bill  had  been  snowed  in  and  forever  lost  to 
civilization.  What  did  he  mean  by  coming  back — 
how  dared  he?  And  with  all  that  disreputable  rec- 
ord. Ah,  there  was  the  rub — that  record !  To  what 
great  pains,  with  what  infinite  care  had  Mr.  Slip- 
away  gone  to  establish  his  own  identity  with  that  of 
— yes,  a  jailbird.  What  a  fatal  mistake  he  had 
made  in  picking  out  Bill  for  his  little  reincarnation- 
act!  But — ah,  blissful  hope! — perhaps  Bill  had 
dropped  his  old  name  during  his  long  career  of 
crime.     Criminals  very  often  do. 

"Have  you.  Bill?"  he  said  eagerly.  And  breathed 
his  hope  to  that  person. 

Bill  shook  his  head.  "I've  always  been  proud  of 
my  name,"  he  said.  "Besides,  there  isn't  any  use 
trying  to  hide  behind  an  alias.  The  'bulls'  always 
get  you  just  the  same." 

Mr.  Slipaway  made  a  slight  movement.  "There's 
only  one  way  out  of  it.  Bill,"  he  said.  "You  got  to 
go  and  give  yourself  up." 

This  seemed  to  strike  the  real  Bill  as  very  funny. 

"Would  you  get  your  old  friend,  Horatio,  into 
trouble?"  appealed  that  gentleman.  "Why,  the  po- 
lice would  get  us  so  mixed  up,  they  might  not  be  able 
to  tell  us  apart." 

"Just  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  unwelcome 


.  THE  NUT  CRACKER  181 

visitor  with  a  grin.  "You  certainly  have  gone  to 
some  trouble  to  prove  you're  Bill  Carter." 

"Of  course,  I  have  plenty  of  money  and  could 
make  it  an  object  for  you  to  do  what  I  want  you 
to,"  pursued  Horatio,  taking  no  notice  of  Bill's 
disagreeable  and  suggestive  last  remark.  "And 
think  of  what  a  time  you  could  have  when  you  got 
out." 

"Think  what  a  time  I'd  have  when  I  got  in !"  ob- 
served Bill,  with  another  annoying  grin.  "It's  just 
occurred  to  me  you've  gone  and  established  for  me 
the  best  kind  of  an  alibi," 

"But" — said  Horatio  eagerly — "I  can  prove  we're 
two  people,  can't  I  ?" 

"Do  you  want  to?"  said  the  real  Bill  shrewdly. 

And  Horatio  was  silent.  The  same  reasons  for  his 
not  desiring  to  be  Horatio  Slipaway  still  existed. 
No ;  Horatio  did  not  wish  to  stir  up  any  unpleasant 
inquiry.  His  brief  return  to  Blinkum  had  been 
marked  with  rank  deception ;  he  would  be  held  up  as 
an  impostor — if  nothing  worse.  The  situation  was 
very  perplexing;  Bill  gazed  at  him  wickedly,  his 
very  glance  seeming  to  say  he  felt  some  revenge  was 
due  him  (the  real  Bill)  and  that  he  intended  to  take 
it.  Indeed,  Bill  at  the  moment  looked  like  Shylock 
whetting  his  knife  for  that  pound  of  flesh. 


182  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Made  me  feel  like  an  interloper,  didn't  you?" 
muttered  Bill.  "I  tell  you  when  I  went  to  the  little 
old  churchyard  and  thought  of  you  sitting  there, 
gazing  at  that  wreath,  I  was  mad." 

"That  was  for  old  friendship's  sake,  Bill,"  pleaded 
Horatio. 

"Oh,  it  was,"  sneered  Bill. 

"I  was  just  thinking  I  was  you,  and  how  you'd 
feel." 

"Liar!"  hissed  Bill,  and  Horatio  was  silent.  He 
was  becoming  very  uneasy.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
to  doubt  Bill  or  his  story.  The  Bill  of  his  (Hora- 
tio's) juvenile  days  had  been  a  small  edition  of  this 
monstrous  grown-up  Bill.  The  little  Bill  was  ram- 
pageous, eccentric  and  very  revengeful.  H  some 
farmer  had  given  the  little  Bill  a  walloping  for  steal- 
ing cherries,  that  little  Bill  would  just  as  soon  (per- 
haps sooner)  set  fire  to  the  farmer's  barn.  As  Ho- 
ratio reviewed  little  Bill's  past  he  recalled  numerous 
pranks  performed  by  little  Bill  just  to  be  "mean." 
Mr.  Slipaway  was  now  seeing  little  Bill  in  a  new  light 
— in  the  light  of  the  recent  actions  of  the  grown-up 
Bill  at  Blinkum — and  all  that  early  hero-worship 
dropped  from  his  (Horatio's)  soul.  Why,  little  Bill 
had  been  just  a  mean,  vicious,  unscrupulous  little 
village  rat — and  through  all  these  years  Horatio 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  183 

had  been  looking  up  to  him — wishing  he  had  been 
Hke  old  Bill — a  feeling  of  great  distaste  for  his  vis- 
itor now  overwhelmed  Mr.  Slipaway.  He  felt  as 
if  there  was  hardly  room  enough  in  the  world  for 
the  two  of  them. 

"Were  you  let  out  of  jail,  Bill,  or  did  you 
escape?" 

"Escaped,"  said  Bill  hoarsely. 

A  sudden  gleam  shot  from  Horatio's  eye. 

"You  see,  it  was  like  this,"  said  Bill,  "every 
night,  lying  in  my  lonely  cell,  I  got  thinking  of  that 
little  old  churchyard,  and  how  I'd  never  stood  along- 
side of  that  little  mound.  So  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
get  out,  by  hook  or  crook,  and  I  did.  Guard  tried 
to  stop  me.     But  he  wished  he  hadn't !" 

"What  did  you  do  to  him,  Bill?"  said  Horatio 
softly. 

"Beaned  him,"  said  Bill.  That  seemed  to  be  his 
specialty,  "beaning"  people.  "Tried  to  monkey  with 
me,  so  I  gave  him  one  with  a  monkey-wrench  I'd 
picked  up  in  the  machine-shop.  Settled  old  scores ! 
When  I've  got  a  grudge  against  any  one" — looking 
at  Horatio — "I  always  settle." 

But  Mr.  Slipaway  was  not  listening;  a  faint  smile 
was  on  his  lips.  A  plan  had  suddenly  occurred  to 
him;  to  entertain  Bill;  treat  him  well,  and  then. 


184  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

when  old  Bill  was  dead  to  the  world — Mr.  SHpaway 
glanced  toward  the  phone.  Already  he  could  in  fancy 
hear  himself  saying:  "Hello,  police,  are  you  look- 
ing for  an  escaped  convict.  Well,  come  right  over. 
I've  got  him.  Yes ;  I'll  hold  him.  Glad  to  make  you 
a  present  of  him.    Good-by." 

Animated  by  this  amiable  and  friendly  purpose, 
Mr.  Slipaway  rang  his  bell ;  he  didn't  know  whether 
Saki  had  yet  returned  from  his  dissipations  at  the 
public  library  or  not.  To  his  satisfaction,  the  little 
"professor"  answered  his  employer's  summons.  He 
showed  no  surprise  at  the  sight  of  the  real  Bill ;  Mr. 
Slipaway  frequently  brought  some  one  home  with 
him,  to  help  while  away  the  weary  moments,  though 
the  real  Bill  wore  rather  shabby  clothes  for  one  pre- 
sumably a  friend  of  Saki's  dashing  master. 

"Well,  did  you  have  an  hilarious  time?"  said 
Mr.  Slipaway  blithely  to  the  little  servitor. 

"Dizzy  time,"  answered  Saki.  "I  chase  Honora- 
ble Anthropology  to  his  uttermost  lair." 

"What  the — "  began  the  real  Bill,  bewildered. 

"Good,"  said  Horatio.  "Now  listen,  Saki.  This 
is  an  old  friend — a  very  old  friend — a  very  dear 
old  friend — I  want  to  treat  him  white — to  give  him 
the  best  there  is." 

"Pop-pop?"  said  Saki. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  185 

"Special  pop-pop!    That  old,  old  pop-pop!" 

"What  the—"  began  Bill  again. 

"Venerable  Grand  Pop-pop !"  said  Saki  with  pro- 
found deference. 

"Say— what's  it  all  about?"  said  Bill. 

"Wait!"  said  Horatio. 

"  'Grand  Pop' !"  repeated  Bill.  "I  don't  want  to 
see  anybody's  grand-pop.  No  Rip  Van  Winkles 
for  me !" 

"Wait,"  said  Horatio  once  more.  "It  isn't  that 
kind  of  a  grand-pop.  This  grand-pop  doesn't  wear 
whiskers." 

An  hour  or  so  later  the  real  Bill  lay  on  the  cozy 
couch,  snoring  blissfully,  Horatio  stood  over  him, 
like  another  Brutus  at  Caesar's  bier.  "So? — old 
friend  ? — dead  ? — but  yesterday  he  might  have  ruled 
the  world — now  lies  he  there — ha !"  A  few  bubbles 
were  dancing  in  Mr.  Slipaway's  brain.  He  prodded 
Bill  blithely  with  his  foot.  "Put  one  over  on  me, 
will  you?  I  guess  not."  He  started  for  the  phone. 
"Now  for  the  reincarnation — 1  mean  the  incarcera- 
tion of  Bill!"  he  muttered,  when  the  door-bell  rang. 

"Mr.  Carter  live  here?"  said  a  brisk  voice. 

"He  does,"  said  Saki,  answering  the  summons. 

"William  Carter?" 

"The  same." 


186  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Then  I  want  him." 

A  man  in  uniform  pushed  in. 

"Eh  ?"  said  Horatio,  trying  to  clear  his  brains  of 
the  bubbles,  for  it  had  been  at  some  personal  self- 
sacrifice  he  had  put  the  redoubtable  "Bill"  to  sleep. 

"Which  is  Mr.  William  Carter?"  said  the  man. 

Saki  promptly  pointed  to  Horatio.  "Mr.  Will- 
iam Carter — Patagonia — llama-trimmer  —  sixteen 
years  at — "  he  went  through  the  whole  formula.  Too 
late  Mr.  Slipaway  realized  what  his  faithful  servant 
was  doing.     His  poor  dazed  brain  was  reeling. 

"No,  no,"  he  muttered. 

Saki  thought  he  must  mean  more.  He  had 
coached  and  coached  himself  for  just  such  an  emer- 
gency. His  master  had  partaken  of  a  glass  or  two 
and  did  not  quite  realize  what  he  was  saying.  Saki 
would  protect  him;  he  ran  through  a  yard  or  so 
more  of  the  stuff.  He  described  their  life  in  detail 
in  South  America;  Horatio  tried  to  stop  him.  He 
wouldn't  be  stopped;  the  faithful  fellow  would  save 
his  master  in  spite  of  himself.  He  rambled  on  and 
on,  while  Mr.  Slipaway  listened  distractedly;  noth- 
ing could  stay  the  current  of  Saki's  devoted  words. 

"I  guess  that'll  about  do,"  said  the  officer.  And 
then — "Come  along!"  to  Horatio. 

"What — what  for?"  stammered  that  individual. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  187 

"Murder — arson — a     few    other    things — that's 

all." 

Mr.  Slipaway  was  too  dazed  to  answer.  As  in  a 
dream — a  hideous  nightmare — he  accompanied  his 
latest  caller.  It  had  been  an  eventful  evening.  On 
the  sofa  Bill  (Mr.  Timothy  Treadway)  slumbered 
on.  Poor  Saki  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room — a 
discouraged,  disconsolate  picture  of  woe. 

What  had  happened  and  why  had  it  happened? 
The  faithful  little  professor  felt  that  somehow  he 
had  been  at  fault ;  perhaps  he  had  not  spoken  his  les- 
son at  sufficient  length.  For  the  moment,  the  un- 
happy Saki  seriously  contemplated  hari-kari,  but 
he  was  deterred  from  that  desperate  expedient  at 
the  sight  of  the  still  slumbering  guest  of  the  even- 
ing. Under  the  circumstances,  it  would  not  be  good 
etiquette  to  "change  his  state" ;  rather  was  it  his 
duty  to  remain,  watch  over  his  master's  guest,  and, 
especially,  guard  his  absent  employer's  belongings 
from  the  too  ready  fingers  of  vandal  hands.  Saki 
went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HERE  they  go."  Mrs.  Slipaway  dodged 
around  a  corner  of  the  apartment  building 
and  watched  the  figures  of  the  officer  and  the  luck- 
less Mr.  Slipaway,  as  they  came  out  of  the  main  en- 
trance and  passed  down  the  shadowy  street.  "The 
actor-gentleman  must  have  played  his  part  very  well, 
to  have  deceived  poor,  dear  Horatio !" 

"Well,  that  was  because  we  rehearsed  it  several 
times;  I  acted  up  to  him  as  Horatio,"  observed  the 
minister.  "Mr.  Treadway  said  I  was  a  natural  actor 
and  complimented  me  very  highly." 

"Did  he?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  absently,  "Do 
you  know,  I  feel  almost  now  as  if  we  had  done 
wrong." 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you,"  observed  her  compan- 
ion quickly.  "Mr.  Slipaway  needed  a  lesson — and  a 
good  one.  He  will  emerge  from  the  experience  a 
chastened  and,  I  trust,  a  better  man." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  the  lady.  "Will  it  take  the 
spirit  out  of  him?  And  how  'chastened'  will  it  make 
him?"    As  she  spoke  she  sighed.    Was  that  sigh  a 

188 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  189 

confession  of  weakness  for  the  erstwhile  dashing 
and  bold — if  reprehensible — reincarnation  of  Bill? 
"A  woman  doesn't  like  a  man  too  'chastened,'  does 
she  now  ?" 

"I  should  not  call  a  proper  admixture  of  spiritual 
exaltation,  in  the  nature  of  man,  as  calculated  to 
make  him  'too  chastened'  to  appeal  to  your  sex," 
responded  the  good  man  rather  stiffly. 

"1  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  still  gazing 
in  the  direction  Horatio,  under  official  guidance,  had 
taken.  'T  was  reading  the  other  night  about  one  of 
those  terrible  buccaneers  of  the  Spanish  Main,  and 
how  attractive  he  was  to  so  many  lovely  ladies !  A 
beautiful  duchess  was  among  them.  The  story  said 
she  left  her  husband,  six  lovely  children  and  her  an- 
cestral halls  just  to  roam  and  roam  with  him." 

"And  can  you  understand  that?"  said  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Bodkins  in  a  still  small  voice. 

"Maybe  she  just  got  tired  of  being  hum-drum," 
said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  still  regarding  the  void  that  had 
swallowed  up  Horatio.  "We  had  a  dog  once,  and 
every  so  often  he  ran  away  from  home.  We  had  a 
cat,  too,  and  it  did  the  same  thing.  Wanted  to  get 
out  of  a  rut,  I  guess !" 

"And  do  you  venture  to  compare  your  sex — 
your  gentle  sex — with  domestic  animals  f 


190  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Didn't  you  ever  feel  that  desire  to  roam?"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Slipaway  in  that  same  far-away  tone. 

"Me?"  said  the  startled  minister. 

"Just  to  jump  out  of  your  pulpit  into  the — ^the — 
well,  the  Somewhere  Else?" 

"I  trust  such  a  thought  has  never  entered" — be- 
gan the  minister  indignantly.  Then  he  stopped. 
"Hum?"  he  said.  "I  should  say  if  such  a  thought 
had  ever  entered  my  brain,  I  trust  I — I — well, 
would  never  mention  it  to  any  one." 

"Of  course  not,"  absently.  "You  know  I  feel 
a  mite  uneasy  about  Johnnie." 

"Why?" 

"When  I  asked  him  wouldn't  he  make  up  as  an 
officer  of  the  law,  and  pretend  to  arrest  dear  Hora- 
tio, he  acted  willing  to  be  of  help.  Indeed,  he  al- 
most 'fell  over  himself  telling  me  how  he'd  just 
love  to  arrest  Horatio.  And  what  he'd  do  if  Hora- 
tio resisted  an  officer  of  the  law.  Somehow,  his  tone 
made  me  think  he  wouldn't  be  sorry  if  poor  Ho- 
ratio did  resist,  so  he  could  use  that  club  he  car- 
ries. You  see,  Johnnie  likes  Horatio  so  much  he 
mightn't  resist  the  temptation  to  find  a  pretext 
for  using  that  club.  I  told  Johnnie  I  didn't  exactly 
see  any  need  of  his  carrying  a  club,  but  he  only  said : 
'You've  got  to  carry  a  club  to  be  an  officer  of  the 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  191 

law.  If  I'm  going  to  act  this  part  I'll  have  to  be  con- 
sistent, I  stand  for  being  the  real  thing.'  And  he 
wouldn't  give  way.  So  I  had  to,  knowing  that  I 
couldn't  find  anybody  better  for  that  particular  role 
than  Mr.  Briggs." 

"Yes;  he  has  a  natural  talent  for  the  part,  I 
should  say,"  observed  the  minister.  "Did  you  notice 
how  he  gave  Horatio  an  unnecessary  jerk,  as  they 
came  out?  And  how  rough  he  spoke,  telling  him 
what  he'd  do,  if  he  didn't  go  along  quietly." 

"Did  I  notice?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "I  should 
say  I  did.  And  when  I  see  Mr.  Briggs  I'll  just  tell 
him  what  I  think.  He  said  something  about  being 
an  artist,  and  how  he'd  merge  into  the  role  like  a 
regular  genius.  I  suppose  he  thought  those  jerks 
he  gave  poor  Horatio  signs  of  genius,  but  I  thought 
he  over-acted." 

"Too  brutally  realistic  to  be  really  fine  acting," 
commented  the  minister. 

"Well,  I'll  have  the  satisfaction  of  telling  John- 
nie so,  at  any  rate,"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway  with 
a  certain  satisfaction.  "He'll  come  to  me,  expecting 
to  be  slathered  all  over  with  compliments,  and  won't 
it  cut  his  pride  to  be  criticized?  He  was  so  con- 
ceited when  he  talked  about  how  he  could  act  the 
part.    Talked  about  the  'third  degree'  and  how  he'd 


192  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

love  to  administer  it  to  dear  Horatio.  In  fact,  I 
don't  like  Mr.  Briggs'  manner  at  all  in  the  matter !" 

"Possibly,  Mr.  Briggs  is  not  altogether  disinter- 
ested," suggested  the  minister  slyly. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  professed  not  to  understand.  "I 
wonder  where  they  are  now  ?  And  has  Mr.  Briggs 
let  Horatio  escape  yet  as  planned?" 

"That  was  the  program,"  observed  the  minister. 
"I  wish  we  could  have  rented  a  police-station  to  have 
taken  him  too,  but  that  was  out  of  the  question.  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  his  face  when  Mr.  Tread- 
way  pretended  to  be  the  real  Bill." 

*T  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "Seems  al- 
most like  taking  a  mean  advantage,  doesn't  it  ?  And 
think  of  the  poor  dear  when  Mr.  Briggs  lets  him  es- 
cape. A  fugitive  from  justice^ — that's  what  he'll 
think  he  is." 

"Give  him  time  to  meditate,  reflect  and  repent!" 

"Yes;  he'll  be  like  those  bold  buccaneers  of  the 
Spanish  Main,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "But  isn't  this 
Johnnie  ?"    As  a  figure  uncertainly  approached  them. 

"It  is.    What  can  have  happened  to  him  ?" 

"What  have  you  done  with  your  club,  Mr. 
Briggs?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  sternly. 

The  remnants  of  Mr.  Briggs  leaned  against  the 
wall.     His  hat  was  dented  and  he  groaned.     "This 


JHE  NUT  CRACKER  193 

for  you!"  he  said,  addressing  Mrs.  Slipaway  re- 
proachfully. 

"Did  you  frame  it  up  so  he  could  escape,  John- 
nie?" said  the  minister. 

"I  didn't  need  to  frame  it  up,"  groaned  Johnnie, 
removing  his  now  superfluous  whiskers.  "I  was 
just  telling  him  my  opinion  of  him — and  all  those 
different  crimes  he  had  committed — when  suddenly 
he  grabbed  my  club — biff!  Never  have  I  seen  so 
many  stars  before!  Whole  constellations  of  them! 
Biff!    When  I  recovered  he  was  gone." 

"That  was  smart  of  him,  anyhow,  wasn't  it?" 
said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  a  faint  accent  of  admiration  in 
her  tones. 

"At  any  rate,  it  made  his  escape  seem  more  nat- 
ural," said  the  minister. 

"Much  better  than  Mr.  Briggs  just  letting  him 
go,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "He  might  have  seen 
through  that." 

"Well,  everything  has  turned  out  very  well,"  ob- 
served the  Reverend  Mr.  Bodkins. 

"Has  it?"  said  Mr.  Briggs  in  an  ugly  tone. 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  smoothly.  "I 
was  afraid  Mr.  Briggs  might  not  act  natural  enough 
in  permitting  him  to  get  away — that  he  might  be  too 
open  about  it.     But  Mr.  Slipaway's  taking  the  sit- 


194  ,THE  NUT  CRACKER 

uation  into  his  own  hands,  was  quite  a  happy  coin- 
cidence." 

"Was  it  ?"  said  Johnnie  Briggs  in  that  same  tone. 

"It  was,"  said  the  lady.  "I  didn't  aUogether  hke 
the  way  you  played  that  part,  Johnnie."     Severely. 

"No?"  said  Mr.  Briggs  with  a  baleful  glare. 

"No,"  repeated  Mrs.  Slipaway  severely. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  my  acting?"  snapped 
Mr.  Briggs,  holding  his  head. 

"It  was  quite  too  unnecessarily — rough!"  said 
the  lady. 

What  Johnnie  said  matters  not. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FOR  several  days  they  saw  nothing  of  the  fugi- 
tive, and  during  these  days  a  patched-up  Mr. 
Briggs  called  frequently  upon  Mrs.  Slipaway.  Os- 
tensibly, he  called  first  after  the  escape  of  Horatio 
to  apologize  for  a  certain  remark  he  had  made  on 
that  memorable  evening,  after  the  good  lady  had 
accused  him  (Johnnie)  of  having  been  "unnecessa- 
rily rough."  Mrs.  Slipaway  had  parted  very  coldly 
with  Mr.  Briggs  on  that  occasion — indeed,  so  coldly 
as  to  give  the  impression  that  henceforth  Johnnie 
might  consider  himself  a  total  stranger  to  her.  This 
did  not  suit  Mr.  Briggs  at  all.  Never  had  the  image 
of  Mrs.  Slipaway  appealed  to  him  so  strongly  as 
now. 

Newly  gowned,  hatted  and  shod,  it  was  as  if  a 
new  and  more  engaging  vision  of  her  had  arisen  to 
dazzle  his  attention.  Mrs.  Slipaway  dug  into  the 
nest-egg  with  reckless  abandon;  clothes  had  a  sud- 
den charm  for  her ;  the  heels  of  her  shoes  kept  get- 
ting higher  and  her  hats  bigger.     She  made  the 

195 


196  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

discovery  she  wore  her  clothes  well;  that  her  nat- 
urally good  figure  was  well-adapted  to  exhibit  the 
wares  of  the  up-to-date  modistes.  Also,  she  made 
the  discovery  that  men  looked  at  her  on  the  street, 
but  this  did  not  displease  her.  With  the  new  clothes 
came  sundry  changes  in  the  house ;  a  bright  rug  ani- 
mated the  floor;  sundry  etchings  replaced  the  mot- 
toes.    Other  innovations  followed. 

"You  see,  when  Horatio  comes  back  he  may  like 
it  better,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  quite  frankly  to  the 
minister. 

"Puts  an  idea  in  my  head,"  said  the  latter  thought- 
fully.   "Maybe  I  ought  to  'spruce  up'  a  bit,  too." 

"You?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"At  the  church,"  he  explained.  "You  see,  the  at- 
tendance is  falling  off." 

"I  read  about  a  minister  who  gave  moving-pic- 
tures in  his  church,  and  now  he's  turning  them 
away,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  absently. 

The  minister  started  slightly.  Then  he  absently 
took  his  leave.  It  was  after  this  visit  that  Johnnie 
Briggs  dropped  in  for  the  first  time  since  his  his- 
trionic triumph.  He  wore  a  rather  hang-dog 
expression ;  he  just  couldn't  stay  away,  although  he 
was  certainly  greatly  put  out,  and  felt  himself  ill- 
used.    He  had  told  himself  he  would  set  the  image 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  197 

of  the  lady  and  the  accompanying  nest-egg  out  of 
his  mind  and  heart  forever,  only  to  discover  that 
was  easier  said  than  done.  As  he  added  up  col- 
umns of  figures  and  performed  other  menial  tasks 
appertaining  to  the  routine  of  his  daily  duties,  said 
image,  with  all  its  fresh  and  matronly  charms, 
danced  ever  before  his  mental  vision.  Mr.  Briggs 
had  fully  determined  never — never — to  call  upon 
that  lady  again,  under  the  pretext  of  being  of  service 
as  a  friend  of  Horatio;  nevertheless,  in  due  course 
of  events,  he  found  himself  wending  his  way  slav- 
ishly to  her  bower. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  received  him — coldly,  albeit — but 
she  received  him.  Possibly  Johnnie  might  have 
some  word  of  the  fugitive.  Mr.  Briggs'  face  as  he 
found  himself  in  the  lady's  presence  was  that  of  the 
knight  of  the  sad  and  mournful  countenance.  One 
eye  was  slightly  discolored,  which  added  to  his  fu- 
nereal and  lugubrious  appearance.  He  was  not  the 
same  gentleman  who  had  used  the  naughty  word  so 
savagely  and  explosively  when  accused  of  having 
been  "unnecessarily  rough" ;  indeed,  he  looked  as 
if  the  sky  had  fallen  down  and  hit  him,  and  wicked, 
peppery  ejaculations  had  been  banished  from  his 
vocabulary  forever.  Mrs.  Slipaway  did  not  ask  him 
to  sit  down  at  first;  and  Mr.  Briggs,  standing  awk- 


198  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

wardly,  conscious  of  the  unprepossessing  aspect  of 
his  right  optic,  murmured  disconnected  words  of 
apology  and  regret,  and  then  disjointed  reiterations 
of  said  words,  humbhng  himself  to  the  dust,  as  it 
were,  and  then  rolling  over. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  listened  with  perfunctory  and 
lady-like  dignity.  "I  know  I  shouldn't  have  said  it," 
breathed  the  mournful  knight  of  the  disfigured 
visage,  "and  I'm  sorry.  Of  course,  no  gentleman 
should  say  what  he  thinks  before  a  lady." 

"A  gentleman  shouldn't  think  what  he  ought  not 
to  say  before  a  lady,"  responded  Mrs.  Slipaway 
with  unbending  coldness. 

"Of  course  he  oughtn't,"  assented  Johnnie 
eagerly,  "but  man  is  gross.  And — I  guess  I  was  a 
little  upset — such  a  wallop!    Whew!" 

"What  did  you  expect — after  handling  him  so 
roughly?"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway  sweetly. 

Mr.  Briggs  swallowed.  "Was — was  I  rough?" 
he  said  miserably. 

"You  were."  Severely.  "You  showed  very 
plainly  you  have  an  inherent  cruel  streak  in  your 
disposition." 

"Me  cruel  ?"  said  the  miserable  Mr.  Briggs.  "You 
— you  don't  know  what  a — a  really  tender  nature 
I've  got.     Why,  when  I  think  of — some  things — I 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  199 

' — I  just  seem  to  melt  all  over.  Besides,  there  was 
the  provocation — " 

*T  am  sure  he  was  going  with  you  as  meek  as  a 
lamb,"  said  the  lady. 

"A  lamb !  Him,  a  lamb !  Why,  when  I  think  how 
he's  treated  you — it  was  the  thought  of  that  made 
me  speak  a  little  sharp  to  him — it  was  the  thought 
of  his  misconduct  to  you — his  cruelty — the  decep- 
tion—" 

"And  it  was  that  made  you  forget  how  fond  you 
always  were  of  him?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  with 
slight  irony. 

"It  did !"  cried  Johnnie.  "Much  as  I  like  Horatio, 
your — your  image  must  come  first.  Woman — gen- 
tle woman — isn't  it  a  man's  part  always  to  protect 
her?  Why,  when  I  looked  in  the  mirror  this  morn- 
ing, you  know  what  I  felt?  Exultation!"  pro- 
claimed Johnnie.  "That  I  got  it" — touching  his  eye 
— "in  your  service.  Yes,  sir;  when  I  see  the  finest 
woman  in  the  world  ground  down — trod  beneath 
foot — humiliated — scorned — when  I  behold  all  that, 
I  say  any  scars  received  by  my  poor  humble  person 
in  the  upholding  of — of — " 

"Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Briggs?"  Johnnie  did 
— gladly.  Had  his  eloquence  secured  for  him  this 
slight  concession? 


200  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"I'm  proud  of  that  eye,"  he  repeated. 

"Are  you  ?"  said  the  lady.  "It  isn't  much  to  be — " 
and  smiHng  sHghtly  she  left  the  sentence  unfin- 
ished. Mr.  Briggs  lolled  back,  more  at  his  ease ;  the 
ice  was  broken — the  Goddess  of  Love  be  praised! 
He  eyed  Mrs.  Slipaway's  extra-high-heeled  little 
shoe  with  tender  emotions.  How  well  that  daintily- 
shod  foot  would  look  on  the  fender  of  his  (John- 
nie's) domestic  fireplace.  Of  course,  Horatio 
wouldn't  come  back  now,  with  all  those  crimes  hang- 
ing over  him,  thought  Mr.  Briggs,  and  the  charming 
lady  could  find  many  and  ample  reasons  for  untying 
the  holy  knot  that  doesn't  bind,  or  shouldn't.  Then 
Johnnie  noticed  the  bright  rug. 

"You've  been  making  some  changes,"  he  ob- 
served. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "What's  the  use  of 
having  money  if  you  don't  spend  it?" 

This  gave  Johnnie  a  slight  shock.  "Referring  to 
that — ah ! — sacred  legacy  ?"  he  observed  in  a  tone 
he  endeavored  to  make  playful,  but  which  never- 
theless conveyed  a  slight  note  of  anxiety. 

"I  am,"  said  the  lady  brightly.  "Only  it  isn't 
sacred  any  more." 

"No?"  said  Johnnie,  still  striving  to  mask  his 
deep  disappointment.     The  sacred  nest-egg  dwind- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  201 

ling  away? — Intolerable  thought!  Mr.  Briggs 
twisted  uneasily.  "Is  it  wise  ? — Is  it  prudent  ? — We 
have  to  think  of  the  future,"  he  observed.  "That 
rainy-day,  you  know!"  he  added,  heroically  strug- 
gling to  speak  in  his  most  disinterested  tone. 

"I've  been  thinking,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"No?"  said  Johnnie  once  more,  with  a  deeper 
sinking  of  spirits.  Whenever  Mrs.  Slipaway  slipped 
into  that  "thinking"  silence  Johnnie  had  noticed 
something  usually  happened  afterward. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "Maybe  nest-eggs 
are  like  other  eggs.  Don't  do  to  keep  them  too 
long." 

"The  Chinese  keep  eggs  for  ever  and  ever  so 
long,"  remarked  Johnnie,  thinking  of  no  better  ar- 
gument on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

"True ;  but  who  would  be  a  Chinese  ?"  murmured 
Mrs.  Slipaway.  "I've  heard  they  treat  their  women 
something  shameful.  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  want  to 
belong  to  a  country  that  treats  its  women  shame- 
fully." 

"You — you  wouldn't  have  to,"  murmured  John- 
nie weakly.  "I — I  was  just  referring  to  their — their 
custom  of  keeping  eggs." 

"Eggs  should  be  used  when  they're  fresh,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Slipaway. 


202  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Ordinary  eggs,"  said  Johnnie.  "But  nest-eggs 
— the  Chinese  custom  might  apply  to  nest-eggs!" 
He  thought  that  rather  clever.   "Not  hens' !" 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  do  anything  the  way  the  Chi- 
nese do,"  remarked  the  lady. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Johnnie  subtly.  "But  nest- 
eggs  can't  spoil,  like  hens',"  he  laughed,  endeavor- 
ing to  appear  as  if  the  subject  was  of  no  moment 
whatever  to  him.  "Quite  to  the  contrary!  Left 
alone,  they  get  bigger  and  better.  And  when  the 
rainy-day" — jocularly — "does  come — " 

"There  isn't  going  to  be  any  rainy-day,"  said  Mrs. 
Slipaway.  "I  made  up  my  mind  to  enjoy  myself  a 
httle." 

"Of  course,"  said  Johnnie,  visions  of  a  vanishing 
nest-egg  floating  darkly  before  his  brain. 

"I've  been  frugal.  Now  I'm  going  to  be  a 
spender,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "Why  should  some 
people  be  the  spenders  and  others  not?" 

"Why,  indeed?"  murmured  Johnnie  mournfully. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that  motto  I  gave  away. 
The  Lord  Will  Provide.'  What's  it  mean  ?  Is  it  an 
invitation  to  be  frugal  ?  It  is  not.  It  just  tells  you  to 
go  right  ahead — to  have  faith.  Seems  to  me  I've 
been  misinterpreting  that  motto  all  these  years.  I've 
been  sinfully  lacking  in  faith." 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  203 

"Say  not  so!"  mumbled  Mr.  Briggs. 

"Now  I  got  it — and  I'm  not  afraid." 

"No?" 

"I'm  beginning  to  learn  that  fear's  what  makes 
most  people  too  frugal  and  skimpy.  It  keeps  them 
back ;  it's  bad  for  them.  Seems  like  I'd  just  begun 
to  wake  up  and  have  faith." 

At  this  distorted  and  perfectly  irrational  philo- 
sophical conclusion,  or  sophistry,  Mr.  Briggs  could 
but  preserve  a  painful  and  distressed  silence.  He 
went  home — to  his  lonely  room — to  meditate  darkly 
upon  the  perversion  of  fortune,  in  general,  and 
woman,  in  particular.  The  worst  was,  he  couldn't 
get  the  image  of  Mrs.  Slipaway  out  of  his  mind, 
with  or  without  the  nest-egg.  And  then  Johnnie 
came  to  a  very  reckless  and  generous  determination. 
He  would  marry  her  anyhow — without  the  nest-egg. 
Although  he  had  hardly  enough  to  support  one,  still 
would  he  court  the  expenses  of  two.  He,  also, 
would  have  "faith,"  and  thus  thinking  he  felt  quite 
heroic;  indeed,  as  he  looked  at  himself  in  the  mirror 
he  thought  his  figure  had  expanded  into  new  and 
more  noble  proportions.  He  was  no  longer  the 
knight  of  the  sad  and  doleful  countenance.  The  dis- 
coloration of  his  optic  was  like  a  gorgeous  badge  of 
merit. 


204  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"I've  been  thinking,"  he  told  the  good  lady,  one 
day  not  long  thereafter. 

"You?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  rather  incredulously. 

"Me,"  said  Johnnie.  "It's  that  faith-stuff.  Go 
ahead  and  spend  it.     What's  the  difference?" 

The  lady  looked  at  him  sharply.  Johnnie,  at 
the  moment,  appeared  in  a  mood  of  undue  exhilara- 
tion. 

"Only  I'd— I'd  just  like  to  have  a  little  talk." 

"Yes?"  said  the  lady. 

"About—"  Johnnie  flushed  deeply.  "Well, 
after—" 

"After?"  she  said. 

"After  you  get  it  from  him — " 

"It?  Oh,  you  mean  a  d — " 

"Of  course,"  said  Johnnie.  "I — I'd  just  like  to 
say,  I — I — wouldn't  be  afraid  to — you  know — ?" 

"Marry  me?"  said  the  lady  quietly. 

"That's  it,"  exclaimed  Johnnie. 

"Without  the  nest-egg?"  said  she. 

"D the  nest-egg!"  cried  Johnnie. 

She  gave  him  rather  a  queer  look. 

"There!  I've  gone  and  used  one  of  those  words 
again!"  said  Johnnie. 

"Never  mind !"  said  she. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  205 

*T  know  it  isn't  strictly  proper  to — well — " 

"It  is  rather  premature,"  she  observed. 

*T  don't  want  you  to  give  me  your  answer  now, 
of  course,  based  on  that — contingency — your — " 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  the  lady  unexpectedly. 
"Why  shouldn't  we  have  a  perfect  understanding? 
Especially  after  the  noble — shall  we  say  disinter- 
ested— character  of  your — proposal?"  Johnnie  be- 
gan to  swell.  "Of  course,  I  realize  it  is  a  proposal, 
based  on  a  certain  contingency.  A  little  irregular, 
or  premature,  still — its  very  disinterestedness — its 
flattering  and  somewhat  surprising  assurance  that 
it  is  I,  and  not  the  nest-egg — "  Her  voice  trailed 
away.   "Here  is  your  answer,  Mr.  Briggs." 

"Oh!"  said  Johnnie,  as  if  almost  overcome  with 
too  much  joyful  anticipation. 

"In  the  event  of  my  divorce  from  Mr.  Slipa- 
way — " 

"Which  you  will  procure,  of  course."  Sotto  voce 
from  Mr.  Briggs. 

" — I  promise  to  be  yours!" 

"Oh !"  said  Johnnie  again. 

The  lady  smiled. 

"This  is  too — too  great  joy!"  breathed  Johnnie. 

'Try  to  bear  up  under  it,"  murmured  the  lady. 


tc 


206  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"I  will,"  said  Mr.  Briggs. 

"Now  go,"  said  the  lady,  and  Mr.  Briggs  stag- 
gered blissfully  from  the  house. 

True,   a   few   doubts   and   misgivings   did   crop 
up   later   to   assail   him,    but   it  was   too   late   to 
draw  back  now;  he  had  committed  himself  inex- 
orably to  the  future  financial  upkeep  of  a  lovely 
lady,   quite   a  responsibility!      But    then — a   com- 
forting thought   did   insinuate   itself   in  Johnnie's 
brain — perhaps  Mrs.  Slipaway  could  force  a  com- 
fortable sum  from  Horatio,  as  a  little  consolation 
for  all  she  had  suffered  in  his  hands.   Perhaps  said 
sum  would  be  as  large  as  the  dissipated  nest-egg, 
and,  once  married,  Johnnie  could  look  after  this 
little  titbit  from  his  dear  friend  Horatio's  pocket- 
book.    Johnnie  even  began  to  plan  how  he  would 
invest  that  titbit.  As  Bill  Carter,  Horatio  had  made 
money.    While  figuring  in  a  noble  disinterested  role, 
Johnnie  began  mentally  calculating  how  much  Ho- 
ratio could  be  made  to  disgorge.   From  this  premise 
Mr.  Briggs  soon  began  to  estimate  the  fortune  he 
would  build  up,  with  the  little  titbit  from  Mr.  Slip- 
away's  pocketbook  as  an  inspiring  "starter,"  and 
it  wasn't  long  before  the  now  elated  Johnnie  saw 
himself  possessed  of  vast  means,  with  the  charming 
Mrs.  Slipaway — that  was — by  his  side  to  assist  him 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  207 

in  maintaining  his  various  establishments  in  the 
country  and  in  town.  This  picture  suggested  to 
Johnnie  a  species  of  poetic  justice  for  the  indignity 
— damaged  optic — he  (Johnnie)  had  suffered  from 
his  dear  friend  Horatio.  Love  and  revenge! — the 
consummation  of  both!  Mr.  Briggs  hugged  the 
thought  to  his  heart.  Mrs.  SHpaway  had  promised 
to  be  his  after  she  had  divorced  dear,  dear  Horatio 
— and  Mrs.  SHpaway  was  a  lady  of  her  word. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  SHADOW  that  had  been  Horatio  Shpaway 
approached  warily  the  Shpaway  home  sev- 
eral nights  later,  hesitated,  walked  by  without  en- 
tering, then,  stealing  in  the  darkness  to  the  side  of 
the  house,  gazed  furtively  within.  What  he  saw 
surprised  him  greatly ;  a  renovated  interior — dainty 
pictures,  in  the  place  of  mottoes ;  a  bright  rug  where 
the  old  rag  carpet  had  been ;  new  wall-paper — cheer- 
ful wall-paper — think  of  it!  And  Mrs.  Slipaway 
herself! — bright  and  cheery-looking! — her  neat  foot 
encased  in  a  coquettish  slipper — her  trim  ankle  set 
off  with  gay  hosiery — yes,  gay !  Where  the  house- 
organ,  with  its  doleful  memories  of  Pull  for  the 
Shore,  In  the  Sweet  By-and-By,  and  kindred  de- 
pressing ditties,  had  stood,  there  was  now  a  victrola 
grinding  out  a  fox-trot.  The  mournful  likeness,  or 
libel,  in  funereal  crayon  of  that  erstwhile  saintly 
man,  Horatio's  predecessor,  had  disappeared — and 
the  whole  place  seemed  cheered  and  illumined 
by  his  absence  A  lamp  with  a  pink  shade  threw  a 
rosy   light    upon   the    happy    scene.     The    outcast 

208 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  209 

breathed  deeply.  What  an  attractive  little  home! 
Oh,  if  he  only  could — dared — enter  it!  Mrs.  Slip- 
away  was  speaking;  the  minister  was  listening.  He 
looked  changed,  too;  his  face  was  more  cheerful; 
he  acted  as  if  he  no  longer  cherished  a  pessimistic 
attitude  toward  original  sin,  and  human  perversities 
in  general. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Slipaway  was  saying,  "I  put  his  pic- 
ture in  the  attic.  It  didn't  seem  to  fit  in  with  the 
general  harmony  of  the  other  effects.  Black  doesn't 
go  very  well  with  pink;  do  you  think  so?  Also,  it 
and  that  light  kind  of  music  didn't  seem  to  get  on 
very  well  in  the  same  room.  So  I  put  it  safely  away 
in  the  attic.  It's  nice  and  quiet  and  a  kind  of  re- 
ligious atmosphere  up  there.  I  do  hope  Horatio 
won't  mind — when  he  comes  back,  not  finding  it 
here.  He  used  to  tell  me  how  he  used  to  look  up  to 
that  picture.  Ah,  me!"  Mrs.  Slipaway  sighed; 
outside,  Mr.  Slipaway  had  a  funny  feeling  some- 
where in  the  neighborhood  of  his  heart. 

"Besides,"  went  on  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "when  I  got 
that  new  kind  of  faith  about  not  worrying  over  the 
future,  and  seeing  how  nest-eggs  were  made  to 
spend,  the  sight  of  IT  on  the  wall  began  to  be  some- 
what disconcerting.  You  can't  convert  some  one 
who  has  passed  on,  to  the  new  faith,  can  you?" 


'210  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Not  very  easily,"  said  the  caller. 

"Knowing  which,"  resumed  Mrs.  Slipaway,  "it 
seemed  we  would  agree  better  with  him  in  another 
place,  where  he  wouldn't  ruffle  the  atmosphere.  Of 
course,  when  Mr.  Slipaway  returns,  if  he  wants  him 
back,  I  suppose  I  couldn't  refuse,  but  I  hope  he 
won't  insist." 

"Let  us  hope  not,"  observed  the  minister.  "Odd, 
how  one's  opinions  undergo  a  transformation!" 

"You're  thinking  of  your  church?" 

"Yes;  after  the  congregation  fell  off,  so  there 
weren't  any  people  to  speak  of  left,  the  trustees 
intimated  I  had  to  fill  the  church  or  pass  on  to  other 
pastures.  So  I  introduced  moving  pictures  of  sacred 
subjects,  with  incidental  religious  remarks.  Now 
there  aren't  enough  seats ;  my  salary  has  been  raised 
twice — and  all  from  a  chance  remark  of  yours !" 

"Well,  there  isn't  any  use  of  being  a  back  num- 
ber," said  Mrs.  Slipaway  decisively.  "Dear  Horatio 
got  tired  of  being  a  back  number;  I  guess  that's 
all  was  the  matter  with  him."  Mr.  Slipaway  listened 
more  attentively.  Mrs.  Slipaway's  tones  were  al- 
most too  soft  and  caressing. 

"Poor  fellow!"  The  minister  laughed.  "I  sup- 
pose he's  lurking  in  allies  and  sleeping  in  dry-goods 
boxes  and  begging  hand-me-outs  to  eat  and  shiver- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  211 

ing  at  the  sight  of  his  own  shadow !"  At  this  touch- 
ing picture  of  his  presumably  miserable  situation, 
Horatio  shook  his  fist  in  the  darkness.  And  they 
could  discuss  him  thus,  and  laugh ! 

"I  suppose  it's  good  for  him,"  said  Mrs.  Slipa- 
way  with  a  sigh.  "Probably  his  poor  feet  are  out 
at  the  toes,  from  running  away,  by  this  time." 

"Most  unfortunate  the  real  Bill  Carter  should 
have  come  back,  wasn't  it?"  chuckled  the  minister. 

"Wasn't  it?"  said  Mrs.  SHpaway,  laughing  too. 
"Poor  dear  Horatio  should  have  thought  he  might 
come  back." 

Poor  dear  Horatio  began  to  quiver  with  rage.  So 
they  were  laughing  at  him,  and  his  misery? 

"Yes;  he  left  the  real  Bill  out  of  his  calculations 
altogether." 

"A  criminal  I" 

"A  fugitive  from  justice!" 

"A  murderer!" 

Horatio  began  to  feel  like  a  murderer.  Why, 
they  were  actually  enjoying  his  sad  plight.  "Hand- 
me-outs" — "shivering  at  his  own  shadow" — "sleep- 
ing in  dry-goods  boxes" — was  there  anything  funny 
in  that  ?  How  true,  the  world  likes  to  laugh  at  one's 
miseries!  Make  a  man  unhappy  enough,  and  you 
have  a  farce!   Make  him  more  and  more  miserable 


212  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

every  minute,  and  you  have  a  whooping  success  of 
a  farce!  Horatio's  chest  arose  and  fell  with  ve- 
hement protest.  And  this  laughing,  rejuvenated 
woman  had  once  been  his  wife — indeed,  was  his 
wife  now.  Ah,  the  pity  of  it;  the  tragedy  of  it! 
Clad  in  her  new  finery,  she  scoffed  at  his  woe.  Why, 
she  was  a  regular  Delilah !  Should  he  spring  forth 
and  confront  them?   Of  what  avail? 

"How  do  you  explain  Mr.  Slipaway's  absence  to 
the  neighbors?"  asked  the  minister  after  a  few  more 
perfectly  intolerable  chuckles. 

"Why,  I  gave  out  Horatio  had  gone  to  Florida, 
and  was  basking  with  the  millionairesses  on  the 
beach.  Then  sometimes  I  tell  them  about  the  fish 
he  is  catching." 

"Oh,  he's  catching  fish."  And  once  more  they 
enjoyed  themselves.  "But  do  you — is  it  quite  right 
— prevarication  can  never  be  excused,  you  know." 

"Well,  this  was  sort  of  true,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 
"After  Horatio  used  his  own  better  judgment  and 
did  just  the  opposite  to  what  Mr.  Vancourtland 
wanted  him  to,  and  made,  instead  of  lost,  thousands 
for  that  gentleman — "  Mr.  Slipaway,  at  the  listen- 
ing-post, started  violently. 

"Mr.  Vancourtland  can't  do  too  much  for  Hora- 
tio.   He  phoned  me  saying  what  a  financial  genius 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  213 

he'd  showed  himself  to  be.   And  he  wanted  Horatio 
and  me  to  take  a  trip  on  his  yacht." 

"Yes;  Mr.  Slipaway  showed  what  he  could  do, 
as  Bill  Carter.  Why,  if  the  real  Bill  hadn't  come 
back,  he'd  have  been  a  millionaire  by  this  time." 

"Poor  fellow !  It  was  a  shame  to  nip  him  in  the 
bud,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.    *'But  it  had  to  be." 

Their  commiseration  was  worse  than  their  laugh- 
ter to  the  lonely  outcast  without.  With  what  a 
shock  had  he  heard  of  Mr.  Vancourtland's  good  for- 
tune; why,  that  gentleman,  instead  of  wanting  to 
have  Horatio  arrested,  had  only  been  desirous  of 
tying  bouquets  to  him.  And  he  (Horatio)  had  been 
running  away  from  bouquets  instead  of  constables. 
He  hadn't  had  nearly  as  much  reason  for  his  psychic 
disappearance  as  he  had  supposed.  He  might  even 
have  stayed  and  defied  the  breach  -  of  -  promise 
woman  and  sundry  annoying  creditors.  Too  late 
Mr.  Slipaway  realized  he  had  been  running  around 
in  a  circle.  If  he  wasn't  Bill  Carter,  and  he  wasn't 
Horatio  Slipaway,  who  was  he?  He  felt  more  like 
a  squirrel  in  a  cage. 

"I  hope  they  won't  find  him  and  electrocute  him," 
breathed  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"If  they  did,  you  would  have  to — "  The  minister 
shook  a  playful  finger  at  her. 


214  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"You  mean  Mr.  Briggs?"  Mrs,  Slipaway  spoke 
the  words  with  a  positive  giggle.  Horatio  ground 
his  teeth.    Such  outrageous  levity! 

"Then  you  wouldn't  have  to  divorce  Mr.  Slip- 
away — " 

"To  marry  Mr.  Briggs?"  Yes;  she  spoke  the 
words.  Jklr.  Slipaway  could  hardly  believe  his  ears. 
Divorce  him,  to  marry  Johnnie  Briggs — that  miser- 
able, crawling  Uriah  Heep  —  oh,  Horatio  saw 
through  him  now.  Pretended  to  be  his  friend — so 
as  to  get  rid  of  him — then — 

"Yes,"  said  ^Mrs.  Slipaway,  with  another  shame- 
less giggle,  "I  had  to  promise  I'd  marry  Mr.  Briggs 
after  I  had  divorced  Horatio !" 

And  the  minister,  too,  seemed  to  see  nothing  in 
this  fearfully  depraved  statement  of  a  reprehensible 
character.  WTiy,  they  were  like  two  conspirators 
sitting  there! 

"After  you  divorced  Mr.  Slipaway!"  laughed  the 
caller.  "Weren't  you  afraid  to  make  that  promise?" 

"Me?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.   "Not  a  bit." 

"Hussy!"  muttered  the  man  at  the  window. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Briggs  is  so  noble — generous — 
disinterested.  A  woman  couldn't  make  a  mistake 
with  him,  could  she?" 

"I  don't  think  you  would  make  a  mistake,  as  far 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  215 

as  Mr.  Briggs  is  concerned,"  said  the  caller  gal- 
lantly. 

Horatio  almost  groaned.  Why,  it  was  hardly 
proper  —  and  he  a  minister  —  talking  like  that  — 
marry  some  one  else,  before  she  was  divorced — 
Never  before  had  Mrs.  Slipaway  looked  so  gay  and 
frivolous ;  also,  so — yes,  attractive !  These  light  and 
wayward  fancies  seemed  to  have  given  her  a  new 
youth  fulness;  her  cheek  had  a  bloom  like  unto  a 
peach. 

"Of  course,  if  he  were  electrocuted  it  would  make 
it  very  simple,"  guffawed  the  caller. 

"Much  simpler,"  assented  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

From  heights  of  baffled  rage  Horatio  descended 
to  depths  of  sorrow  and  reproach.  They  could  talk 
of  his  demise  thus — lightly — casually —  Not  that 
Horatio  had  the  slightest  fear  of  being  electrocuted ; 
the  real  Bill  would  probably  be  found  some  day 
and  the  shadow  lifted  from  him  (Horatio),  only 
meanwhile,  it  was  deucedly  inconvenient  dodging 
around  with  those  things  fastened  on  to  you.  Why, 
he  couldn't  even  draw  from  the  very  considerable 
bank-account  he  had  in  one  of  the  city  institutions 
in  William  Carter's  name ;  nor  dared  he  return  to 
his  comfortable  apartments  where  the  faithful  Saki 
still  kept  mournful  vigil.    That  was  the  worst  of 


216  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

it;  he,  the  erstwhile  energetic  "live  wire,"  now  con- 
signed to  a  spineless  and  inert  existence.  He,  Ho- 
ratio Slipaway,  in  whom  had  been  discovered  new 
forces,  a  roaming,  idle  fugitive,  the  while  his  dear 
friend  Johnnie  had  been  undermining  the  peace  of 
his  fireside.  For  the  moment  Mr.  Slipaway  was  at 
a  loss  just  what  to  do.  Should  he  go  away  or  stay  ? 
He  heard  the  front  door-bell  ring.  He  determined 
to  wait  just  a  little  longer;  something  interesting 
might  happen;  it  did. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  REJUVENATED  Bridget  went  to  the  front 
door.  Formerly  Bridget  had  been  careless 
of  her  attire  and  her  appearance ;  but  Mrs.  Slipaway 
had,  apparently,  not  only  done  over  her  house  (and 
in  a  measure)  herself,  she  had  likewise  done  over 
her  maid-servant.  A  becorseted  Bridget  greeted 
the  gaze  of  the  watcher  at  the  window;  in  fact, 
Bridget  was  so  tightly  becorseted  that  she  stuck  out 
in  places  in  great  bulges,  reminding  the  rather  star- 
tled gazer  of  an  overgrown  Venus.  Bridget  re- 
turned with  the  caller — or  rather  the  callers — and 
Mr.  Slipaway  had  the  surprise  of  his  life. 

Real  Bill  Carter  entered  the  room,  and  by  his 
side  was  the  breach-of-promise  woman!  Horatio 
felt  impelled  to  run  away,  to  lose  himself  in  the 
abysms  of  night,  but  he  seemed  frozen  to  the  spot. 
Mrs.  Slipaway  greeted  the  visitors  cordially;  Ho- 
ratio gasped.   The  real  Bill  held  himself  debonairly. 

"This  is  her,"  he  said.  "We  did  the  trick  all 
right." 

217 


218  THE  NUT  CRACKER 


«T»- 


Tm  sure  I  congratulate  you  and  wish  you  every 
happiness,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  sweetly. 

The  impressionistic  lady  curved  her  body  into  a 
new  angle. 

*T'm  sure  you're  very  kind,"  she  said.  *T  just  fell 
in  love  with  Mr.  Treadway  the  first  thing,  and  I 
couldn't  help  it."  She  spoke  in  jerks — emotion,  no 
doubt.  Bill  (Mr.  Treadway)  gazed  at  her  proudly. 
"It  was  all  so  romantic !  Don't  you  love  romance, 
Mrs.  Slipaway?"  That  lady  told  her  she  did.  Ho- 
ratio listened  with  commingling  emotions — amaze- 
ment— wonder — awe — struggling  in  his  breast. 

"Well,  you  not  only  got  an  engagement — you  got 
a  wife,  didn't  you?"  said  the  minister  to  Mr.  Tread- 
way. 

"Some  little  girl,"  said  the  proud  Bill. 

"I  don't  yet  know  quite  how  it  happened,"  said  the 
minister. 

"Looks  as  if  I'd  done  the  proposing,"  said  the 
"passion-pale"  lady  with  another  twist  of  her  lithe 
form.    "Seems  kind  of  forward,  on  my  part!" 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you,"  said  the  happy  "Bill." 

"How'd  you  say  it  was?"  said  the  minister. 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  the  groom,  "the  last  I  re- 
member up  in  your  husband's  room,  ma'am" — to 
Mrs.  Slipaway — "was  taking  a  strangle-hold  on  a 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  219 

Grand-pop,  and  wrestling  with  the  contents.  It  was 
a  villainous  plot  against  my  fair  fame.  I, can  see  it 
all  now.  They  deliberately  conspired  to  put  me  'to 
sleep.'  The  Jap  boy  was  ever  at  my  elbow — ever 
there,  with  his  insidious  smile,  and  another  pop-pop. 
How  many  Grand-pops  popped  I  do  not  know. 
'Nice  tickle-drops!'  urged  the  little  fiend.  'Drink,' 
said  his  master,  with  a  slimy,  treacherous  smile. 

"When  I  awoke,  I  was  alone,  but  on  my  breast 
was  a  paper — a  summons  in  a  breach-of-promise 
case !  The  process-server,  it  seems,  had  entered,  and 
finding  me  there,  concluded  I  was  this  villain,  Ho- 
ratio Slipaway.  So  he  served  me.  When  I  read 
that  paper,  I  felt  moved.  'Poor  little  girl,  how  have 
you  been  treated?'  says  I  to  myself."  The  lady  in 
the  case  shifted  her  body  into  a  new  posture — sym- 
bolic, no  doubt,  of  Desolation,  or  Desertion. 

"I  made  up  my  mind  to  call  upon  her,"  said  Mr. 
Treadway.  "That  paper  seemed  like  a  sort  of  sum- 
mons to  do  so." 

"Seemed  kind  of  forward  on  my  part!"  repeated 
the  impressionistic  lady. 

"I  found  her  in.  We  just  looked  at  each  other, 
and  knew  it  was  to  be.  It  certainly  was  a  sizzling 
love-affair.  She  forgot  about  the  other  chap  right 
off;  never  had  cared  for  him.    Just  a  bit  of  innocent 


220  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

flirtation  on  her  part;  that  was  all.  Besides,  she 
was  gifted  with  imagination;  seemed  it  would  be 
rather  exciting  to  get  into  court;  maybe  it  would 
attract  attention  to  her  and  she  could  get  into  the 
movies." 

"Of  course,  I  can  quite  understand,"  said  Mrs. 
Slipaway. 

"It  really  was  a  very  innocent  affair,"  observed 
the  impressionistic  lady. 

"Don't  bother  to  explain,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 
"I  absolved  dear  Horatio  of  all  blame  when  I  first 
saw  you." 

The  impressionistic  lady  looked  at  her;  honey- 
sweet  was  Mrs.  Slipaway's  smile.  You  wouldn't 
have  thought  there  was  a  double  twist  to  her  words. 

"A  very  happy  culmination,"  observed  the  min- 
ister. "I  am  sure  Mr.  Treadway  has  well-earned 
his  salary  for  impersonating  one  very  wicked  jail- 
bird." 

"Impersonating?"  Outside,  Mr.  Slipaway  held 
his  head.  He  began  to  understand — a  frame-up? — 
ah! — what  a  hideous  conspiracy. 

"Yes;  we  had  to  create  a  real  Bill  to  rout  poor 
dear  Horatio,"  put  in  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"And  wasn't  he  easy?"  remarked  Mr.  Treadway. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  221 

"Or  your  acting  was  unusually  good,  dear,"  com- 
plimented the  breach-of-promise  lady. 

"Anyhow,  he  just  ate  up  my  story,"  laughed  Mr. 
Treadway.  "How  I'd  escaped  from  jail;  how  I'd 
*beaned'  some  one  in  the  house  where  I  was  born, 
and  burned  down  the  little  old  schoolhouse! — swal- 
lowed it  all!" 

"It  was  your  convincing  ways,"  said  the  bride. 

"Maybe !  And  then  he  sat  planning  how  he  could 
get  even;  feed  me  tickle-drops,  and  then  hand  me 
over  to  the  police !    Ha !  ha !" 

"Yes;  he  certainly  treated  William  very  well," 
said  the  bride.  "But  you  won't  drink  like  that  again, 
will  you?" 

"Never,"  said  Mr.  Treadway  promptly.  "I  don't 
expect  ever  to  be  tempted  like  that  a  second  time. 
Such  things  don't  happen  to  a  man  more  than  once 
in  a  lifetime." 

"I  like  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  she. 

"Did  you  marry  him  to  reform  him,  dear?"  said 
Mrs.  Slipaway  in  a  funny  tone. 

"Why,  perhaps  that  was  it,"  she  returned  with  a 
jerk. 

"Well,  here  I  stand  waiting  to  be  moulded,"  said 
the  happy  Mr.  Treadway.    And  his  expression,  at 


222  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

the  moment,  was  as  inanely  blissful  as  a  happy  piece 
of  dough,  eagerly  awaiting  the  fair  hand. 

Mrs.  Slipaway  passed  Mr.  Treadway  a  check. 
Mr.  Treadway  accepted  it  with  satisfaction.  "It 
will  help  for  the  honeymoon,"  he  said.  "I  suppose 
he  made  his  escape  as  per  schedule?" 

"Hardly,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "You  see,  John- 
nie Briggs,  dressed  up  as  an  officer — " 

"Johnnie  Briggs !"  muttered  Mr.  Slipaway,  with- 
out. 

"And  Horatio,  I  suppose,  got  rather  impatient, 
and  as  you,  Mr.  Treadway,  would  say,  'beaned' 
him." 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Mr.  Treadway,  "I  told  you 
he  would  mess  it  up  somehow.  These  amateurs  al- 
ways do.  But  good  night,  madam,  and  thank  you 
for  the  job." 

"Seems  as  if  we  ought  to  throw  a  few  old  shoes 
after  them,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Aw !"  said  the  bride  bashfully. 

"I  think  I  could  find  a  few  old  pairs  of  Hora- 
tio's," said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "And  wouldn't  that  be 
romantic?" 

"What?"  said  the  minister. 

"To  throw  a  pair  of  old  shoes  of  Horatio's  after 
her!" 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  223 

"I  did  step  in  his  shoes,  in  a  way,"  said  Mr. 
Treadway. 

"In  a  way,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Good  day,"  said  the  bride. 

*'Good-by,"  said  the  others. 

"God  bless  you,"  added  the  minister. 

Only  Horatio  said  nothing.  He  was  stricken 
dumb  as  well  as  frozen  to  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AS  Mr.  Slipaway  groped  his  way  uncertainly 
/~\  from  the  spot  he  tried  to  think,  but  his  brain 
seemed  befogged,  A  "frame-up!"  There  wasn't 
any  real  Bill.  What  a  master-stroke  on  the  part  of 
Mrs.  Slipaway!  He  recalled  the  shivers  of  appre- 
hension with  which  he  had  gazed  upon  that  colossal 
humbug,  real  Bill,  who  was  none  other  than  an  im- 
personator from  stageland.  And  to  think  Mrs. 
Slipaway — the  seemingly  guileless  one — had  "put 
this  over"  on  him — the  resourceful,  bold  and  orig- 
inal reincarnation  of  William  Carter!  Amid  his 
resentment  lurked  a  feeling  of  vague  admiration 
for  that  good  lady.  Why,  his  wife  was  clever — ^pos- 
itively clever — devilishly  so !  And  he  had  never 
known  it  before.  He  had  learned  a  great  deal  since 
his  little  adventure  in  another  man's  skin. 

What  an  unsophisticated  ass  he  had  been.  Espe- 
cially to  have  trusted  Johnnie  Briggs !  As  he 
thought  of  that  false  friend — that  wolf  in  sheep's 
clothing — a  queer  feeling  ran  down  Mr.  Slipaway's 

224 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  225 

spine.  Mrs.  SHpaway  had  promised  to  marry  John- 
nie, when  she  had  divorced  him  (Slipaway).  Not 
the  Mrs.  Slipaway  that  had  been,  either,  but  a  rejuv- 
enated, most  attractive-looking  Mrs.  Slipaway — a 
charming  matron  who,  since  she  had  shed  trouble 
and  worry,  seemed  to  have  been  drinking  of 
the  fountain  of  youth!  As  Horatio  now  mentally 
reviewed  her  attractions,  he  told  himself  with  a  feel- 
ing of  satisfaction  how  glad  he  was  that  he  had 
clubbed  Johnnie  good  and  hard  that  ill-omened  night 
of  the  arrest.  His  only  regret  was  that  he  had 
not  struck  harder;  if  he  could  only  have  repeated 
that  blow  now  there  would  be  left  no  Johnnie,  he 
told  himself.  He  should  have  struck  that  gentle- 
man hard  enough  so  that  he  would  have  lost  all  sense 
of  his  identity  forever. 

The  problem  of  the  future  was  now  with  Mr. 
Slipaway;  there  no  longer  existed  any  reason  why 
he  should  continue  that  ridiculous  fugitive-from-jus- 
tice  performance.  The  breach-of-promise  lady  was 
happily  disposed  of;  his  financial  misadventure  with 
Mr.  Vancourtland's  money  had  made  a  hero  instead 
of  a  felon  of  him.  He  could  remain  Bill  Carter, 
or  he  could  once  more  resume  the  even  tenor  of  his 
way  as  Horatio  Slipaway,  thereby  thwarting  that 
treacherous  Johnnie's  double-faced  plotting.   Should 


226  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

he  tamely  resign  the  rejuvenated  Mrs.  SUpaway  to 
that  paltry  little  worm,  Mr.  Briggs  ?  To  remain  as 
Bill  Carter  might  lead  to  this  unthinkable  catas- 
trophe. On  the  other  hand,  to  return  to  his  old 
self  involved  fearful  humiliation  and  a  gruesome 
confession  of  his  own  duplicity,  which  was  also  un- 
thinkable to  his  proud  and  sensitive  soul — and  Mr. 
Slipaway,  after  all  he  had  endured,  as  a  hunted  and 
tortured  fugitive  from  justice,  was  not  in  a  mood, 
either  humble  or  repentant.  How  they  had  laughed 
at  him;  that  old  blackbird  of  a  minister  had  posi- 
tively chuckled ! 

No  man  likes  to  be  made  a  fool  of;  nor  does  he 
desire  to  bend  before  those  who  have  stricken  his 
sensibilities  to  the  core.  Mr.  Slipaway  was  deeply 
hurt;  that  fehcitous  description  of  him  skulking  like 
a  hobo ;  sleeping  amid  ash-barrels  and  tomato-cans ; 
devouring  odd  scraps  handed  out  from  back-doors — 
that  gibing  picture  of  his  supposed  misfortunes,  into 
which  he  had  been  thrust  by  the  machinations  of  the 
vivacious  Mrs.  Slipaway  and  her  conspirator  of  the 
cloth,  was  profoundly  mortifying  to  one  who  had  so 
recently  been  a  haughty  conqueror  of  finance  and  bold 
trimmer  of  llamas.  Animated  by  these  emotions  of 
indignant  resentment,  Mr.  Slipaway  suddenly 
turned  and  walked  to  his  own  front  door.    He  rang 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  227, 

the  bell  boldly;  Mrs.  SHpaway  answered  it  herself, 
Bridget  having  just  gone  out — to  the  movies. 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  with  no  signs  of  sur- 
prise, "so  you've  come  back,  I  was  expecting  you. 
Walk  in.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Bodkins  is  there.  He, 
too,  will  enjoy  meeting  you." 

"Madam,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway  impressively,  "I 
have  called  as  the  friend  of  your  husband,  Mr.  Slip- 
away.   I  used  to  know  Horatio  well." 

"Oh !"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway.  "Well,  sit  down  any- 
way. So  you've  only  just  come  for  a  little  social 
call?" 

"Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway  easily.  He  felt 
that  now  his  turn  had  come. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  exchanging  a  look 
with  the  minister,  "I  am  sorry  he  is  not  here  to  re- 
ceive you." 

"Yes ;  that  would  be  a  joy,"  said  Horatio  coolly. 
Nothing  like  rubbing  it  in!  (They  would  humili- 
ate him,  would  they?) 

"I've  been  expecting  him  along  almost  any  time 
now,"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"He's  been  away  and  you're  expecting  him  to 
return?"  observed  Horatio  languidly. 

"Almost  any  time,"  repeated  Mrs.  Slipaway 
lightly. 


228  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"Maybe,  if  I  wait  a  little  while,  I  might  meet 
him?" 

"You  might,"  she  said  with  a  sweet  smile. 

For  a  time  he  talked  about  commonplace  topics, 
just  as  if  he  were  real  Bill  Carter,  and  the  lady  re- 
sponded in  kind.  But  Horatio  could  see  she  was 
puzzled ;  a  fugitive  from  justice  should  act  nervous, 
and  Bill  Carter,  with  all  those  crimes  she  had 
planted  on  his  shoulders,  should  seem  worried  to 
death.  This  Bill  Carter  just  crossed  his  legs  easily 
and  descanted  eloquently  and  annoyingly  about  that 
exasperating  subject — Patagonia.  He  plied  them 
with  Patagonia  until  the  minister's  head  was  whirl- 
ing and  the  good  lady  had  gradually  lost  most  of  her 
vivacity.  Then  he  started  in  and  repeated  himself. 
He  told  them  of  adventures — fictitious — he  had  had. 

"And  speaking  about  adventures,"  he  observed,  "I 
had  rather  an  odd  experience  the  other  night.  Chap 
dropped  in,  pretending  he  was  me." 

"Did  he?"  said  the  lady,  studying  the  visitor. 

"What  could  have  been  his  object?"  said  the  min- 
ister slowly. 

"At  first  I  thought  he  was — "  Horatio  tapped  his 
head. 

"Then,  when  a  fake  ofificer  arrested  me,  I  saw  it 
was  just  a  little  practical  joke." 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  229 

"Joke?"  said  the  lady. 

"On  the  part  of  some  of  my  broker- friends. 
They're  awful  jokers,  those  brokers !  We're  always 
playing  tricks  on  one  another." 

"Are  you?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  faintly. 

"Yes,  indeed.  But  they  didn't  fool  me,  in  the 
least.  Because,  you  see,  I  recognized  the  fake-offi- 
cer. Met  him  once  in  the  broker's  office.  Homely 
little  fish  called  Boggs  or  Briggs  or  something." 

The  expressions  on  their  faces  rewarded  the  nar- 
rator. "I'm  afraid  I  treated  poor  little  Boggs 
rough,"  he  said  softly.  "I  really  must  write  him 
a  letter  of  apology."  It  was  Horatio  who  now 
chuckled.  Humble  him  to  the  dust,  would  they? — 
make  him  eat  crow? — he  laughed  long  and  loud. 
"Joke's  certainly  on  them !" 

"Is  it?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  in  a  very  strange 
tone. 

Horatio  leaned  back,  delighted.  Once  more  he 
felt  like  a  conqueror — a  llama-king.  "They  have  to 
get  up  pretty  early  to  put  one  over  on  old  Bill  Car- 
ter," he  bragged.  "But  I  am  sorry  for  that  insig- 
nificant little  Boggs." 

"Are  you?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Poor  chap !  I  fear  I  gave  him  a  headache.  But 
you  wouldn't  know  him,  of  course." 


230  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  SHpaway.  "I  don't  know  any- 
one by  the  name  of  Boggs." 

"Well,  you  don't  miss  much,"  said  the  conde- 
scending Horatio.  Then  he  glanced  at  a  watch. 
"Bless  me,  how  time  flies  in  pleasant  company.  I 
really  must  be  going." 

"You  won't  wait  on  a  chance  of  Horatio's  return- 
ing?" she  asked  slowly. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway.  "I  have  several  other 
very  important  engagements.  I  trust  I  have  not 
bored  you  with  my  meanderings  about  the  country 
of  my  early  choosing?" 

"No;  you  haven't  bored  me,"  she  answered  me- 
chanically.   "I  shouldn't  call  it  that." 

"So  pleased !"  said  the  visitor,  and  with  extreme 
grace  and  courtesy  eliminated  himself. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

Mrs.  Slipaway  and  the  minister  regarded  each 
other. 

"Of  course,  there  is  only  one  explanation,"  said 
the  lady.  "He  has  learned  all  about  it  and  has 
turned  the  tables  rather  neatly." 

"Too  bad,  after  all  the  pains  we  took !"  murmured 
the  minister.    "The  pains  and  the  expense !" 

*Yes;  it  is  too  bad,  and  I  am  dreadfully  disap- 


<o 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  231 

pointed,"  she  confessed,  "but  at  the  same  time, 
wasn't  it  clever  of  him  ?  You  know  I'm  beginning  to 
think  he  has  a  master-mind."  The  minister  did  not 
look  enthusiastic.  "And  how  I  once  thought  I  un- 
derstood him !    Him,  with  all  that  deep  perception !" 

"The  question  is,"  said  the  minister  dryly,  "how 
did  he  find  out?" 

"How ?"  said  the  lady  absently.  "Intuition!  He 
doesn't  have  to  find  out  things  in  ordinary  ways. 
He  just  knows  them."  As  she  spoke  she  sighed. 
"And  isn't  he  a  wonderful  talker !" 

"Liar,  you  mean,"  the  minister  nearly  said,  but 
managed  to  check  the  words.  There  was  no  use 
of  disturbing  Mrs.  Slipaway's  exalted  mood. 

"I  certainly  never  appreciated  Horatio,"  she  now 
ruminated,  almost  sadly.  "I  suppose  there  are  a 
lot  of  us  like  that — don't  appreciate  our  blessings 
until  they  take  wings  and  fly  away." 

"Hum?"  said  the  minister.  "Now  I  wonder?" — 
He  was  looking  toward  that  side  window.  "Slightly 
open — ah! — and  one  standing  outside  might  look 
in.    May  I  ? — a  candle  ?" 

The  lady  procured  one  for  him,  and  going  to  the 
side  of  the  house,  the  minister  investigated. 

"Foot-prints — in  the  soft  earth!"  he  announced, 
returning  to  the  sitting-room  a  few  moments  later. 


232  ,THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"He  stood  there  and  heard  every  word  we  have 
been  saying.     That  explains  all." 

Mrs.  Slipaway  still  maintained  that  pensive  air. 

"I've  been  thinking,"  she  said.     "There's  some- 
thing just  come  to  me,  but  it's  terrible." 

"If  it's  efficacious,  I  don't  think  we  need  hesitate 
for  any  ethical  reasons." 

"We've  just  got  to  save  him  now,  haven't  we?" 
said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"How?"     Curiously. 

She  explained. 
Masterly!"  he  exclaimed. 

Maybe,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  almost  plaintively, 
I'm  not  doing  it  for  strictly  moral  reasons  ?  Maybe, 
I  don't  want  to  force  him  to  return  to  the  fold  be- 
cause of  conscientious  motives?  Maybe,  I'm  will- 
ing to  go  to  terrible  extremes  for  a  very  selfish  rea- 


(C 


son 


A  woman's  reason?"  he  said  softly. 
Mrs.  Slipaway  blushed.  Or  was  it  just  the  reflec- 
tion from  the  pink  shade?  The  minister  left  her  in 
a  brown  study.  Then  going  down  the  front  steps 
he  chuckled.  He  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Briggs'  (or 
Boggs')  chances. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MR.  SLIPAWAY  returned  to  his  apartments. 
He  wasn't  altogether  satisfied  with  himself ; 
true,  he  had  won  a  technical  victory  over  those  who 
had  conspired  against  him,  but  he  felt  no  great  sense 
of  elation  as  he  meditated  over  his  triumph.  Some- 
how, the  thought  of  that  conspiring  Johnnie  Briggs 
annoyed  him  more  than  he  confessed  to  himself. 
Then  there  were  moments  when  a  picture  of  the 
new  cozy  sitting-room  arose  before  his  mental 
vision.  Had  Mrs.  Slipaway  "cozied  up"  the  place 
in  anticipation  of  a  future  nuptial  arrangement  with 
the  iniquitous  Johnnie?  Detestable  thought!  Ho- 
ratio sighed.  Would  he  have  dropped  back  into  his 
old  self  and  environment,  if  he  could  have?  Prob- 
ably. But  how  to  do  so — gracefully — and  without 
lack  of  dignity? — the  problem  was  not  easy. 

Saki  welcomed  his  master  with  exuberant  glad- 
ness. 

"Honorable  Mr.  William  Carter  not  go,  then,  to 
dishonorable  execution?"  he  said. 

"Naw!     Just  a  little  pleasure-jaunt,"  said  Ho- 

233 


234  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

ratio  with  a  yawn.  "You  see,  Saki,  it  was  all  only 
a  little  bit  of  fun.  Whenever  you  want  to  have  a 
little  fun  with  a  friend  you  just  frame  up  something 
like  that." 

"Japanese  fun  no  like  that,"  said  the  puzzled 
Saki. 

"That's  just  it.  Every  nation  has  its  own  kind 
of  fun.  And  American  humor  is  in  a  field  all  of 
its  own." 

Saki  took  out  a  note-book.  "American  fun: 
When  you  arrest  friend  and  lead  him  to  execution." 

"Of  course,  there's  other  varieties  of  fun,  too," 
said  the  blithe  (once  more)  reincarnation  of  Bill. 
"When  you  shake  down  a  friend  and  get  all  the 
money  in  his  pocket — that's  what  we  call  giving  him 
the  merry  *ha !  ha !'  It's  always  a  good  joke  when- 
ever you  trim  a  friend." 

Mr.  Slipaway  went  to  his  broker's  office  and  was 
warmly  greeted,  but  he  didn't  take  any  plunges; 
instead,  he  asked  a  check  to  "bearer"  for  his  bal- 
ance; just  why  he  wanted  it  made  out  that  way  he 
could  hardly  explain  to  himself.  The  amount  was 
considerable;  once,  it  would  have  quite  frightened 
him;  now  he  regarded  the  little  scrap  of  paper  non- 
chalantly. It  didn't  seem  very  much  to  him,  pos- 
sibly because  he  knew  he  had  acquired  the  money- 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  235 

making  habit  which,  being  a  very  bad  habit,  no 
doubt,  is  not  easy  to  be  gotten  rid  of.  At  the  mo- 
ment he  was  thinking  what  a  stunning  dress  he  could 
buy  for  Mrs.  Slipaway,  if  he  wanted  to — that  is,  if 
he  could  see  his  way  to  doing  so  with  consistent 
grace.  But  he  couldn't;  it  wouldn't  be  proper  for 
Bill  Carter  to  purchase  elaborate  wearing  ap- 
parel for  the  charming  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

That  afternoon,  passing  a  milliner's  shop,  he 
stood  and  gazed  at  sundry  amazing  creations.  Here 
was  another  deprivation;  what  was  the  use  of  all 
this  money  if  he  couldn't  go  in  and  pick  out  the 
most  smashing  one  in  the  bunch  and  toss  it  her  way? 
Very  exasperating  situation,  he  told  himself !  Scan- 
dal to  buy  hats  for  his  own  wife?  Positively  ridic- 
ulous! Positively,  he  repeated,  disgustedly.  Ah, 
and  there  were  some  furs!  Wonderful  furs!  At 
least,  how  wonderful  they  would  look  on  a  person 
who  could  wear  them  to  advantage,  and  the  rejuv- 
enated Mrs.  Slipaway  was  that  kind  of  person. 
The  costliest  furs  weren't  any  too  good  for  her. 
No  man  need  be  ashamed  of  her,  in  the  most  select 
company;  why,  Mr.  Slipaway  wouldn't  have  been 
afraid  to  introduce  her  to  a  duchess. 

From  furs  to  diamonds  was  but  a  step,  and  Mr. 
Slipaway  could  hardly  resist  the  temptation  of  pur- 


236  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

chasing  a  nice  big  brooch,  or  a  ring  or  two.  But  he 
had  to  smother  the  incHnation.  Too  confounded  bad, 
he  thought  to  himself.  She  ought  to  be  "orna- 
mented up  a  bit";  when  a  woman  can  rejuvenate 
herself  that  far  all  by  her  own  efforts,  it's  her  due 
— her  just  due — that  some  one  who  takes  an  interest 
in  her  should  be  permitted  to  help  her  along  in  the 
beautifying  process  with  a  few  extraneous  gee-gaws. 
Mr.  Slipaway  felt  as  if  he  were  being  cheated  out  of 
something. 

And  there,  too,  were  those  motor-cars!  A  fine 
woman  ought  to  have  a  car.  Huh !  Wasn't  she  be- 
ing cheated  out  of  something  if  she  didn't  have  one? 
It  certainly  wasn't  right ;  there  was  something  rotten 
in  Denmark,  when  Mrs.  Slipaway  was  being  de- 
prived of — say — a  nice,  jaunty  little  town-car,  in 
which  she,  and  the  furs  and  the  big  hat,  etc.,  etc., 
would  look  very  well  indeed.  By  this  time  Horatio 
was  becoming  a  regular  cynic;  money  brought  no 
pleasure;  it  was  only  a  nuisance  and  an  aggrava- 
tion. It  reminded  you  of  so  much  you  wanted  to 
do,  and  you  couldn't. 

He  returned  to  his  lonesome  apartments,  gloomy 
and  downcast ;  there  wasn't  a  single  little  joy-bug  in 
a  glass  of  Martini;  even  the  quaint  Saki  had  lost 
some  of  his  charm  to  interest  him.     He  listened 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  237 

moodily  to  the  encyclopedic  dissertation  on  "Fun" ; 
it  seemed  Saki  was  painstakingly  tracing  the  topic 
to  its  most  hidden  sources,  at  the  library,  extracting 
therefrom  much  curious  lore  appertaining  to  the 
causes  of  the  risibilities  of  the  different  peoples  and 
tribes  who,  more  or  less  amusingly,  inhabit  this 
globe ;  and  Saki  had  found  that  what  was  very  funny 
to  some  people  was  just  the  opposite  to  others ;  and 
he  was  going  to  trace  why  this  was  so,  later  on,  if 
there  existed  wisdom  enough  to  tell  him.  He  had 
embarked  upon  a  nice  little  essay  about  what  can- 
nibals found  most  amusing  to  laugh  at,  tracing  an 
analogy  between  cannibalistic  fun  with  the  protest- 
ing missionary  and  the  pot,  to  the  American  idea, 
bounded  by  the  irresistible  desire  to  arrest  "friend 
and  lead  him  to  execution,"  when  the  telephone 
rang. 

Saki  went  to  the  instrument;  it  was  a  summons 
for  Mr.  William  Carter.  The  latter  went  to  the 
phone.  He  had  been  gloomily  thinking  of  her,  and 
now  he  heard  her  own  voice.  It  gave  him  quite  a 
start. 

Would  Horatio's  old  friend,  Mr.  Carter,  honor 
them  by  dropping  in  for  supper,  to-morrow  night? 
A  simple  little  repast ;  maybe  the  minister  would  be 
there.    They  had  enjoyed  Mr.  Carter's  last  call  SO 


238  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

much  a  repetition  of  the  pleasure  would,  the  lady 
said,  be  much  appreciated,  Mr.  Carter  promptly- 
said  he  would  come ;  he  spoke  on  impulse.  He  asked 
the  lady  how  she  was  and  several  other  personal 
questions,  and  she  told  him  how  very  well  she  was 
feeling,  at  which  the  gentleman  expressed  his  great 
gratification.  Then  Mr.  Carter,  after  a  rather  lin- 
gering good-by,  hung  up  the  phone.  He  didn't  ask 
himself  at  the  moment  whether  he  was  doing  wisely. 
In  fact,  he  didn't  care.  He  didn't  know  what  he  was 
going  to  do,  or  what  might  happen.  He  was  in  a 
strangely  reckless  and  dare-devil  mood. 

"Mr.  William  Carter,"  said  Horatio  to  the  maid 
at  the  front  door  of  his  own  home,  the  next  day, 
at  the  proper  hour,  and  entering,  was  greeted  by  a 
rather  disconcerting  company.  The  little  sitting- 
room,  moreover,  had  undergone  a  change.  There 
was  a  piece  of  furniture  in  the  center  that  looked 
like  an  operating  table.  Near  it  stood  a  small  pro- 
fessional-looking man,  and  beside  him  another  man 
of  rather  powerful  build.  The  minister  sat  in  a 
corner. 

"This  is  the  patient,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway 
with  a  wave  of  her  hand  toward  Horatio. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  239 


"1 


Patient?"  said  that  gentleman,  with  a  start.  "I 
— I  came  to  supper." 

"Oh,  no,  you  didn't,  Horatio  dear;  you  came  for 
something  else,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"Who — who  you  calling  Horatio  ?"  said  that  gen- 
tleman weakly. 

"Isn't  that  your  name?"  said  the  little  profes- 
sional man. 

"None  of  your — business,"  said  Horatio  hoarsely. 
"I  don't  know  you,  and  I  don't  want  to  know  you." 

"Perhaps  we'll  get  better  acquainted  presently." 

"Not  if  I  have  anything  to  say  about  it,"  observed 
Horatio  testily.  He  now  noticed  the  large  man  had 
moved  over  between  him  and  the  door. 

And  then  they  began  to  talk  about  operations. 
Mr.  Slipaway  sat  down  and  eyed  them  warily.  Mrs. 
Slipaway  talked  about  him  just  as  if  he  hadn't  been 
there ;  she  kept  referring  to  him  as  the  sufferer.  The 
doctor  took  out  a  lot  of  instruments;  Horatio  did 
not  like  the  looks  of  them;  the  little  man  had  some- 
what of  a  ferocious  appearance  he  thought.  Was  it 
just  another  frame-up?  Horatio  rocked  back  and 
forth  nervously  in  the  big  chair  in  which  he 
was  seated.  He  frankly  didn't  like  the  looks  of 
things.    Of  course,  it  must  be  a  frame-up,  but  the 


240  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

question  was  how  far  would  they  proceed?  There 
was  an  expression  of  determination  in  Mrs.  SHp- 
away's  eyes  he  didn't  reHsh. 

"Go  as  far  as  you  Hke,  Doctor,"  that  lady  said. 
"Only  my  dear  Horatio  must  be  restored  to  me." 

"That,  madam,  is  as  it  will  be.  I  have  told  you 
the  operation  is  a  dangerous  one." 

"Operation?"  said  Horatio. 

"A  very  pronounced  depression,"  said  the  med- 
ical man,  reaching  over  and  passing  his  fingers 
around  Horatio's  head.  "It  will  be  necessary  to  bore 
through  the  bone,  then  follow  the  duct  channel, 
skirting  the  edge  of  the  brain.  As  I  say,  the  opera- 
tion is  dangerous,  but  if  it  is  successful  the  patient 
will  recover  his  sense  of  personal  identity,  and  that 
queer  delusion  of  which  you  speak  will  vanish  into 
thin  air." 

"Better  he  should  die  on  the  operating-table,"  said 
Mrs.  Slipaway  with  a  determined  look,  "than  be  run- 
ning around  thinking  he  is  somebody  else." 

"Then,  madam,  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Hanged  if  you  will!"  said  Horatio.  "I've  got 
something  to  say  about  that." 

"No,  you  haven't,"  he  observed  with  a  smile. 

"It's  for  your  good,  Horatio,"  said  Mrs.  Slip- 
away. 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  241 

"Yes;  he  makes  a  specialty  of  boring  into  the 
damaged  heads  of  poor  sufferers  and  restoring  them 
to  their  normal  selves,"  said  the  minister,  folding  his 
hands.  "And  many  of  the  sufferers  have  lived  to 
bless  him." 

"You  see,  Horatio,  you've  just  been  taking  a  little 
mental  outing,  but  now  vacation-time  is  over,"  said 
Mrs.  Slipaway  soothingly.  "Or  it  will  be,  when  he 
has  finished  with  you." 

"Not  finished  with,"  said  Horatio,  endeavoring 
to  be  jocular.    "You  mean,  finished  me!" 

"I  trust  not,"  she  said.    "We'll  hope  for  the  best." 

"This  may  be  my  lucky  day,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Do  you  have  unlucky  ones?"  said  the  patient. 

"We  all  do,  my  friend,"  gravely.  "We  never 
can  tell  when  we  are  going  to  grope  through  path- 
ological darkness — in  a  word,  what  we  are  going 
to  be  *up  against!'  The  path  of  surgical  explora- 
tion leads  often  to  strange  and  insurmountable  ob- 
stacles. The  human  brain  is  a  very  delicate  thing. 
One  little  slip  of  the  knife,  and — " 

"Maybe  we'd  better  open  with  prayer,"  said  Ho- 
ratio, trying  to  look  upon  the  affair  as  a  joke.  "We 
have  a  minister  here." 

"It  is  no  jesting  matter,  sir,"  said  the  doctor 
gravely.      "We   have  to   cure  you  of  a  strange 


242  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

hallucination.  We  have  come  to  bury  Mr.  William 
Carter." 

"I  don't  think  you're  a  doctor  at  all,"  said  Mr. 
Slipaway. 

"I  trust,  when  I  am  done  with  you,  that  remark 
will  be  retracted  by  you,"  observed  the  other  pleas- 
antly. 

"Do  you  think  such  a  statement — well,  tactful, 
under  the  circumstances?"  asked  the  minister.  "In 
a  few  moments  you  will  be  lying  here,  under  the 
influence  of  chloroform,  and  this  gentleman,  with  a 
knife  and  other  instrument,  will  be  performing  in- 
cisions in  your  head." 

"You  mean,  I  ought  to  make  him  feel  nice  and 
good  before  he  starts?    Well,  I  won't." 

"A  very  obstinate  patient,"  said  the  doctor,  "The 
operation  may  be  more  difficult  than  I  anticipated." 

"Oh,  Horatio,  don't  make  it  harder,"  pleaded 
Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"My  name's  William,  and  I  came  here  to  have 
supper." 

"Lock  the  door,"  said  the  doctor  to  the  assistant. 
"I  trust  the  patient  will  not  resist." 

"I'd  like  to  punch — "  began  the  patient. 

"Horatio — don't — "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Slipaway. 
"Please  don't — make  him  angry." 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  243 

"I  will  be  patient,"  said  the  little  man,  feeling  the 
edge  of  a  sharp  instrument  with  his  thumb. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Mr.  Slipaway  shivered. 

"Looks  like  a  butcher  to  me !"  he  said,  glaring. 

The  doctor  smiled  icily.  "Remember  he  is  not 
accountable  for  his  words,"  observed  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"He  will  be  more  accountable  afterward,  madam," 
said  the  surgeon  very  coldly.  "I  promise  to  be  very 
thorough.  I  will  leave  no  stone  unturned,  to  get  at 
the  ro8t  of  the  trouble." 

Mr.  Slipaway  moved  uneasily ;  likewise,  he  looked 
at  the  doctor  more  closely ;  no,  he  wasn't  Mr.  Tread- 
way,  that  famous  impersonator  who  had  imposed  so 
outrageously  on  him  (Slipaway)  on  that  other  occa- 
sion. He  was  presumably  some  other  impersonator, 
but  even  so,  Mr.  Slipaway  little  relished  the  idea  of 
having  chloroform  administered  to  him  by  a  novice. 
Why,  they  might  give  him  too  much,  and  that  would 
be  as  bad  as  being  carved  up. 

Or,  was  it  possible  Mrs.  Slipaway  did  really  think 
to  restore  him  to  his  proper  self  by  these  heroic 
means?  That  good  lady  might  well  think  his  little 
hallucination  real.  The  doctor,  thought  Mr.  Slip- 
away, looked  like  a  regular,  bona  fide  "carver" ;  he 
looked  as  if  he  might  go  a  long  way  in  the  interest 
of  science.    He  might  even  indulge  in  a  little  experi- 


244  JHE  NUT  CRACKER 

meriting  on  him  (Mr.  Slipaway)  so  as  to  get  data 
for  a  paper  for  some  medical  convention.  He  might 
entitle  said  paper,  "Hallucinations,  Real  or  Sim- 
ulated." He  regarded  Horatio  with  a  cold  calm  eye 
that  betokened  an  uncanny  interest. 

Mr.  Slipaway  began  to  think  more  rapidly;  it 
was  quite  up  to  him  to  do  something.  How  thwart 
that  blood-thirsty  little  man?  Pride  forbade  he 
should  yield  and  confess  himself  openly  an  arrogant 
impostor!  Mr.  Slipaway,  in  his  agitation,  rocked 
faster  and  faster.  Suddenly,  amid  the  turmoil  of 
his  thoughts,  a  ray  of  light  seemed  to  steal; 
at  the  same  time  he  rocked  so  hard  he  went  over 
backward  with  a  bang.  His  head  hit  the  floor;  also 
his  closed  knuckles !  Judging  by  the  noise  he  must 
have  received  an  awful  bump.  Indeed,  for  some 
moments,  he  lay  perfectly  still — quite  unconscious, 
apparently. 

"Is— is  he  dead?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway,  looking 
really  startled. 

"I  trust  not,"  said  the  doctor,  "for  the  sake  of 
the  operation !    Perhaps  if  we  lift  him  to  the  sofa — " 

The  doctor  and  the  strong  man  did  so.  Mr.  Slip- 
away opened  his  eyes.  "Where  am  I?"  he  said. 
Then  he  looked  around.  "The  same  old  room,"  he 
murmured,  "but  what's  become  of  the  mottoes?" 


**1 


*t^ 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  245 

"They're  gone,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway  in  her 
happiest  tone. 

"Gone,"  he  repeated  blankly.  "And  the  old 
organ  ?" 

"Gone,  too,"  she  murmured. 

He  looked  at  her.     "But  you're  here,"  he  said. 

"Of  course  I  am,"  she  answered. 
'My  head  hurts,"  he  said.    "I  don't  understand." 
'Don't  you?"  said  the  doctor  in  a  queer  tone. 
'You  fell  over,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 
'Who  are  these  people — that  ugly  little  man  and 
the  big  guy?" 

"You  never  saw  us  before?"  said  the  doctor. 

"Don't  know  you  from  Adam,"  replied  Horatio 
promptly.  "What's  that  for?"  pointing  to  the  op- 
erating-table.   "Is  some  one  sick?" 

"Some  one  was,  my  dear." 

"Mr.  William  Carter,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Carter?"  said  Mr.  Slipaway,  as  if  puzzled. 

"You  didn't  know  him?" 

"Never  heard  of  such  a  person,"  said  Mr.  Slip- 
away unblushingly. 

"What  did  you  say  your  name  is?"  said  the 
doctor,  putting  out  a  hand  as  if  seeking  to  get  ac- 
quainted. 

"Horatio  Slipaway." 


246  THE  NUT  CRACKER 

"What's  that?"  said  the  other  as  if  a  little  deaf. 

"The  gentleman's  a  little  hard  of  hearing,"  put 
in  the  minister. 

"My  name's  Horatio  Slipaway,"  said  Mr.  Slip- 
away,  louder.    Then  he  added :   "And  I  don't  give 


a—" 


"Ahem,"  said  the  minister. 
" — who  knows  it !" 

"I  say !"  The  voice  was  that  of  Johnnie  Briggs, 
who  some  time  later  when  shown  into  the  room  had 
found  Mrs.  Slipaway  seated  with  Mr.  Slipaway's 
arm  thrown  casually  and  compromisingly  about  her 
shapely  waist. 

"It's  quite  all  right,  Johnnie,"  she  said,  rising 
quickly. 

"But — your — your  promise?"  stammered  the 
dumfounded  Mr.  Briggs.  "To — to — you  know- 
after  you — after — " 

"What  does  the  fellow  mean?"  said  Mr.  Slipaway 
haughtily. 

"She — she  said — "  stammered  Johnnie. 

"I  said  I'd  marry  you,  Johnnie,  after  I  had  a 
divorce  from  Horatio,"  spoke  up  the  lady  herself. 
"And  I  will,"  she  added  merrily.  "Only,  I'm  afraid 
you'll  have  a  very  long  time  to  wait — " 


THE  NUT  CRACKER  247 

"You  mean,  you  never  meant  to — to — " 

"Isn't  it  the  best  joke?"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway 
gaily. 

"Aw !"  said  the  disgusted  Johnnie. 

"Where's  that  club  I  hit  him  with  last?"  said  Ho- 
ratio. 

"He  isn't  worth  bothering  with,"  said  Mrs.  Slip- 
away. 

"Fade  away !"  said  Horatio  to  Johnnie,  and  John- 
nie obeyed. 

"Of  course,  I  knew  you  only  wanted  some  good 
pretext  to  come  back  and  buy  me  things,"  whis- 
pered the  now  thoroughly  happy  Mrs.  Slipaway, 
when  they  were  once  more  alone.  "And  it  was 
awfully  clever  of  you  to  fall  over  backward  and 
biunp  your  poor  dear  head  again.  I  really  felt  you 
wouldn't  force  the  issue." 

"Did  you?  And  what  would  you  have  done  if  I 
had?"  said  Mr.  Slipaway  accusingly. 

"They'd  have  had  to  cut  me  up  first  before  they 
touched  you.  I  guess  you  knew  that,  and  acted  gen- 
erous, just  to  spare  my  feelings." 

"Maybe,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway  enigmatically.  "But 
how  about  that  supper  I  came  for?  And  what  do 
you  say  if  we  dine  out  and  have  a  real  feast?" 


248  THE  NUT  CR.\CKER 

"  'Tickle-drops'  ?"  she  said  coquettishly. 

*T  don't  know  just  what  that  is,"  he  answered 
demurely,  "but  if  it's  anything  you  want,  just  call 
for  it." 

"You're  sure  you're  not  going  to  get  tired  buying 
me  lots  and  lots  of  things?" 

"Never,"  said  Horatio. 

She  gave  a  happy  sigh.  "I  don't  want  things," 
she  said.     "Or — only  one  thing,  really !" 

"What's  that?" 

"And  I  don't  have  to  want  that,  any  more." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I've  got  it." 

"Me,  too !"  said  Horatio  gruffly. 

And  then  they  sallied  forth  giddily. 

"I  don't  know  what's  happened,  or  how  it  hap- 
pened, but  it's  just  happened,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway. 

"That's  the  way  I  feel,"  said  Mr.  Slipaway.  "As 
— as  if  I  could  jump  over  the  moon !" 

"I  guess  that's — that's  love,"  said  Mrs.  Slipaway 
timidly. 

"Guess  it  is,"  said  Horatio. 

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